


Crystalline Patterns

by Gryphonrhi



Series: Aidan-verse 2: The Line War [6]
Category: Forever Knight, Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M, Holidays, Line Ramirez is a randy bunch, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Silly, Threesome - F/M/M, Tuxedo Wars, Watchers, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot of silliness, flirting, and tuxedo wars, a cast of dozens, and a holiday interlude to the plot, which will return all too soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crystalline Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI: I tried to deal with the line war.  Honest.  The story blew me a raspberry.  I tried to insert a story-line.  I got another rude noise and a one finger salute.  The story pointed out that it's Christmas, and, roughly translated, said 'Bite me'.  If you don't mind that, go thou forth and read.
> 
>  _ **If you want plot instead of holiday silliness**_ , the next chapter for you is [Intermezzo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/291749), two forward from here.

Paris, France - mid-November

"So you'll be over in time for the party this year?"

Aidan laughed, merry and pleased, and replied, "I already said we would, Connor.  We'll be in on the 14th, to help with the prep work for it, and stay through Christmas or your birthday if you think you can stand the three of us under foot."

"I do remember the days when a visit was for a few weeks or months to make it worth the travel time.  It wasn't that long ago, Aidan.  I can spare you three rooms for a couple weeks, I think."  Connor's voice would have sounded sarcastic to anyone who wasn't used to his barbed humor.

"Actually, Connor, one room with a large bed will do for the three of us.  I assume you have one?"

There was a brief pause on his end of the line, and then Aidan could almost see the raised eyebrow as she heard the amused voice.  "If that's what you want, sister.  Your friend Joe Dawson is coming?"

"He said he'd be staying with a good friend of his in the city, but he'll definitely be there for the party."

Connor laughed quietly.  "I should hope so.  And I'll tell Rachel she can start handing you lists on the 15th.  Be prepared to work your ass off."

"I've helped Rachel before, Connor.  I'll get my Midwinter's shopping done before we get there.  If it's all right, I'll ship some things to the store ahead of time."

"Of course.  Call me in a couple weeks, but I'll see you all in a month."

"Yes, you will.  And Connor?"

"Yes?"

She sounded unexpectedly serious.  "Something's coming, a storm of some kind.  Watch your head, brother.  I'm not there to watch your back."

"I'll be careful.  Aidan."

"Connor."

* * * *

  


New York City - December 14th

The dark-haired woman stumbled as she stepped off the escalator.  Her foot had caught, briefly, in the break between the steps and the platform.  She righted herself neatly enough, but her expression spoke volumes of irritability and tiredness.

The lanky dark-haired man walking ahead of her steadied her with one hand on her arm.  "All right?"

"Yes."  She said nothing more as she shifted her backpack more comfortably on one shoulder.

"You have got to learn to sleep on airplanes."

She glared up at him as their third member joined them.  "I'd have to be able to sleep through your snoring."

Green-gold eyes smiled down at her as Methos asked, "Do I really snore?"

"No," she sighed.  "I just don't trust airplanes.  Something about the vibration from the engines through the metal will not be quiet and I can't sleep through it."

The taller man wrapped an arm around her waist and scooped up her overnight bag with his own.  "Come on, Connor will be waiting for us and then we'll tuck you in to sleep some of this off."

Aidan sighed again and didn't comment, just pulled herself up to a more erect posture and tried to force away some of her foul mood.  Her lovers caught each other's eyes over her head and nodded in wry commiseration.  She was going to be grouchy until she got some sleep.  No matter that she would apologize later, better to deal with it now.  Methos took her bag from Duncan and the taller man moved to break a path through the combined holiday/college student/tourist crowd in the airport.

The presence of another immortal washed over them as they moved through the busy terminal and all three tensed, weariness forgotten as adrenaline flooded through their blood.  Aidan, however, relaxed almost immediately.  "It feels like Connor," she murmured in Gaelic.

"Are you sure?"  Methos asked it almost casually, body language still deceptively lazy-looking.

"No.  But I'd consider putting money on it."

Duncan laughed at that.  "Good enough.  There he is.  I don't feel a second, what about you two?"

Aidan yawned and replied, "Duncan, I don't think so.  But I'm not sure my judgment's good right now."

Methos raised an eyebrow at that.  "One, Highlander."

Connor walked toward them, trench coat still loosely tied.  "Long flight?  You're late."

Aidan said, "Too many incoming flights still stacked up from the morning fog.  We circled for an hour."

The sandy-haired man grinned at her.  "Still hate flying, hmm?  Here, I got this for you when they admitted your plane had finally landed."  He held out a large Styrofoam cup, lidded.  One eyebrow had gone up in ironic commentary on the thought of an immortal who suffered from jet lag.

The lid came off and she took a long drink without looking to see what it was.  Duncan, meanwhile, was grinning at his kinsman.  "If you knew she was this bad, couldn't you have warned us?"

"How did I know you needed to be warned?"  Connor shrugged, amber eyes catching the light as he grinned.  "I will tell you that half and half coffee and hot chocolate, loaded with cream, helps a lot.  Since you seem to need the advice."

Aidan purred and said, "Connor, I'm nominating you for sainthood."

Methos only commented, "No wonder you drove from Syracuse to Seacouver.  Aidan, get on the outside of that drink and we'll get the luggage."

Connor considered arguing, then shook his head and grinned annoyingly.  He'd get even later....

* * * *

Aidan never knew if it was the smell of coffee that woke her or the feel of another immortal.  Since her subconscious knew this for Connor's house and that he had never been far away that night or morning, she suspected it was the coffee.  Duncan and Methos, she saw, were both still soundly asleep -- Duncan because he trusted Connor's safeguards and Methos because he trusted her to wake him if there was a problem.  Her talent for sensing and identifying presence frequently surpassed his.

In any case she sat up, stretched long and comfortably, then wrapped the blankets back around Methos and pulled on a robe.  As much as possible,  the younger two kept the oldest immortal in the middle of the bed.  For one thing, he'd spent too much of his life alone as far as they were concerned.  The feel of his lovers' bodies on either side of him as he slept diverted many of his nightmares, which was all to the good.  For another thing, it let the two morning people get out of bed easily; Methos definitely was not in favor of mornings.  He swore he'd outgrown the habit millennia ago.  And last but not least, the older man stole covers outrageously and this way Aidan and Duncan didn't wake up in the middle of the night because they were freezing.

Connor studied her tousled hair and sleepy face when she opened the bedroom door and grinned at her.  "I thought you went to bed first."  His voice stayed quiet so as not to wake the other two, but she noticed he'd brought a tray with a coffee service and four mugs.

"I did.  They woke me up when you three finished talking.  Come on in, brother."  She pulled two chairs over to the small table in the room, settling them on the far side of the room from the bed.  Even over by the window the scent of coffee should rouse Duncan, but they were far enough away that the voices wouldn't wake Methos too immediately.

Connor poured her a mug and stirred in cream while she retrieved her hair brush.  The rhythmic strokes of the brush through her hair punctuated their conversation while they let the coffee cool to a drinkable temperature.  Aidan smiled at Connor as she worked through the tangles. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Seven.  Rachel will probably hand you your share of the work when she gets in, so you've got an hour or so.  All your boxes are down in the stock room, by the way.  Did you take pity on the French economy and decide to boost it?"

Aidan chuckled at that.  "No, I had five or six names I was definitely getting presents for and my usual forty or so that I buy for if I see something perfect for them.  Unfortunately, I kept seeing things.  Wait until you hear me bitch about wrapping them this weekend."

"I'll pass you whiskey every so often," he offered.

"Oh, that should make this interesting.  The Glen Moray I brought you?"

Connor smiled at her, eyes dark in the dim room but amused nonetheless.  "Oh, I think so.  It's a good cause.  If I bribe you enough, maybe I can slip some of mine in.  You do a better job wrapping than I do."

"I know and I've never understood it. You do the most exquisite origami, I don't know why packages are a problem, Connor.  Feel free to put them in the pile, though.  I don't mind.  All you have to do is hand me Scotch and periodically change CDs."  She smiled and stretched again, back arching over the chair as she pulled her arms to full extension.  "Any idea if Rachel has me working here today, or running errands, or both?"

"She said she wants to get all the decorations up.  The public area of the shop's been done for three weeks, but the apartment and the ballroom haven't been touched.  I hope you deal well with ladders."

That got a chortle, quickly quieted in deference to the two still sleeping.  "As long as your cousin isn't making me laugh so hard I fall off, no problem at all."

"It's none of my business, Aidan...."  Connor paused and she waved him on.

"The hell it isn't, Connor.  You patched me up after Dani; that alone bought you the right to ask.  And you love Dhonnchaidh dearly, do you think I'm blind?"

"I love you, too, woman.  Are you happy?"

"Oh, yes, Connor."  The radiant smile on her face reassured him more than anything else.  "Was I so grumpy as that last night?"

"No, just sleepy.  But I wanted to be sure.  I didn't expect one room for you three, although I should have known that once you quit discriminating against immortals," and she flashed a momentary grin, "that you'd love where and as you please."

Aidan turned a very serious expression on Connor.  "Are you feeling neglected, Connor?"

"Lass, I worried for awhile that I'd pressed too hard.  Did I?"

"No, Connor, you never did."  She continued to study him, then switched to Gaelic.  "I love you dearly, you know.  Could I be your lover as well without shattering this, I would, but it's too new, Dhonnchaidh's not used to the balances in a triad.  If you still want me another year, Connor...."  She trailed off, not sure what he would think, but well aware that both of them were prone to bluntness.

Connor grinned at her, obviously amused.  "I love an honest woman.  I'll not ask you to hurt them or distract yourself from the Game, you know that.  But some Christmas, I'll hope for a wrapped gift under the tree."

"Well, I'll see what I can do.  Maybe a bow?"  She grinned back at him.

"Oh, what's wrong with tassels?  Maybe ribbons?"

"Just make sure there's a tree-skirt on the tree, thank you.  Pine needles.  Ouch."

Duncan had been hearing quiet voices for a while now, but the first words he was awake enough to understand came from Connor.  "Do you think those two slug-a-beds will roust themselves to come buy two trees this morning?"

 "Oh, I think we'll manage.  Since a puny thing like you can't carry a tree by himself, cousin."  The taller Scot caught the robe Aidan passed him and came over to stand behind her chair.  He accepted the coffee from Aidan with a smile and a kiss.  All three of them looked amused when Methos turned over and pulled the covers over his head, effectively becoming a cocoon of blankets and pillows with one shock of black hair sticking out.

Connor grinned at Duncan and said, "Well, I suppose I could point out that I'm not the one who needs help to deal with one woman, but that would get me pinpricked to death by Aidan so I'll not say it."  Duncan pulled a chair next to Aidan, then took the brush away and finished untangling her hair for her with the ease of long habit.

"More coffee, Connor?  To get the taste of shoe leather out of your mouth?"  Aidan held the coffeepot over his arm instead of his cup, grinning at him.  The older Highlander knew perfectly well she wouldn't do it and moved his mug under the spout instead.

"Aye, lass, a fine idea.  So, wearing them both out?  A fine Irish woman like you can surely handle the likes of them."  His eyes danced with mischief, as did his voice.

"Well, we none of us need sleeping pills at night," she commented, also smiling.

"No, just in the morning.  Gods, people, did it never occur to you that the early bird can only get the worm if the worm's stupid enough to get moving that soon?"  The voice which came from under the covers was both husky with sleep and irritated.

Aidan calmly reached out and took Duncan's coffee as he stood up and moved to the bed to soothe Methos.  Her only comment was, "I think they can help you with the trees while I help Rachel around here.  But it may take a little while to get Adam in motion."

Connor watched with one eyebrow raised when his cousin went to deal with their sleepy lover instead of Aidan as he'd expected.  "Robert always did think that mornings were something to sleep through.  That's why he ran a tavern.  It gave him an excuse to stay abed."

Aidan tilted her head to watch Connor's face.  She wasn't entirely sure that Duncan had mentioned that he was sleeping with both Aidan and Methos.  The older Highlander rarely gave away anything he was thinking, but he looked slightly surprised to see Duncan stretch out along Methos and wrap an arm over him.  The younger MacLeod was talking softly to the blanket-wrapped form.

All she said was, "I can believe that.  So does Rachel want help with the cooking, too?  And what would you like me to make tonight?"

"Did you think I'd hold you to that?"  He was still watching the two on the bed in his peripheral vision and she knew it.

"Of course.  Standing rule, the visitor cooks dinner.  Unless you forgot to stock the pantry again, which I really doubt."  Aidan glanced over to see where Duncan was in the usual morning battle to get Methos moving.  He'd gotten some of the covers down and was rubbing Methos' back which was getting purrs and the occasional twitch or stretch.  To her relief, Connor didn't seem shell-shocked.  Well, Connor never seemed too surprised by anything, but you could usually read volumes in the color of his eyes and the faint lines around his mouth.

"Oh, it's stocked.  It's Sunday.  Do you still remember how to make scones?"

That drew a surprised smile from Aidan.  "That's like learning to ride a bicycle, Connor.  Of course I do.  Why scones, though?  Or did you want to do high tea instead of supper?"

"Sol always comes over for tea and chess on Sundays; it gives Rachel an excuse to spoil him rotten.  For that matter, he wanted to help decorate the tree if we got it early enough to let the branches settle a bit."

Aidan chuckled, pleased.  "Oh, wonderful!  I haven't seen him in ages, how is he?  Still tough as briar and looking fragile as Venetian glass?"

"Of course he is.  The man gets tinier from year to year, but he still plays a mean chess game.  I forgot to tell you when he helped me identify a forgery a few months ago.  But he usually comes over around four or so and we eat anywhere from five on."

"So I fix foods that can be set out; not a problem, brother."  She glanced over and saw that Methos had arched into a stretch against Duncan's chest and was actually talking over one shoulder to him.  The younger immortal was rubbing on that shoulder, still speaking too quietly to be heard across the room.  Good, they might actually be within a few minutes of getting the first mug of coffee down Methos; after that it was all downhill.

"Did you want to invite your friend Joe for this?  Or will he be busy?"

Aidan shrugged.  "I haven't a clue, Connor, but he's been wanting to meet you.  I'll call and ask him, if you don't mind.  Just keep those boxes sealed, would you?  His present's in there, too.  Shall I ask him to bring his guitar?  The man's superb."

"Christmas carols?"  Connor asked, watching his cousin and Adam with the faintest of grins starting to crack through.  The older immortal obviously did not want to be awake and this was equally obviously a regular morning battle being waged here.

"Well, I'm sure he can, but he normally plays some excellent blues and rock.  Mostly blues."  Aidan tried to keep her own grin under control.  Connor was taking the relationship between Methos and Duncan better than she had really hoped for.  Of course, she also had a fair idea what Duncan was saying to Methos to wake him up.  Just as well they were being quiet.  The younger Scot came up with some very interesting ideas in the morning, but he also preferred a bit of privacy for testing them out.

Methos reached back and wrapped one hand around the back of Duncan's neck in a casual caress and finally sounded alert as he said, "All right, Duncan, I'm awake.  Tell me you all haven't drunk all the coffee yet."

"Not unless Connor brought a smaller pot than I think he did."  The younger MacLeod kept his arm around Methos' chest and asked, "So do you want to come sit and talk or do I need to bring the caffeine to you?"

"I can talk from here."

Connor raised his eyebrows, amused, and said, "He's not awake enough to remember how to walk, that's all.  Too much beer in his younger centuries, even we can only regrow so many brain cells."

"Most centuries the beer wasn't that good, Connor."  Methos pulled slightly away from Duncan to have enough room to stretch.  He managed, through some trick of physics Aidan had never understood, to take up most of a king-sized bed for that period of time.  It was hideously unfair somehow that anyone should be able to do that and still be able to compress longer legs into smaller seats than she could.

Methos finished stretching -- and chasing Duncan off the bed -- then sprawled out sideways, lying on his stomach.  He wasn't going to display it to Connor, but Duncan's wake-up suggestions had had their normal effects on him.  Right now, he wanted something more potent than caffeine, like a good morning kiss from one of his lovers.  Say, a twenty-minute kiss that traveled a lot.  Oh, well....

Aidan passed Duncan's coffee mug back to him and took Methos her mug.  "Here, it's already cool enough to drink.  And for once I went easy on the sugar, so I don't want to hear any bitching."

Methos pulled her in for a kiss then drank the entire mug in one long swallow.  Aidan's mouth twitched as she fought down a smirk.  She didn't have to turn around to know what that had just done to Duncan's control.  For some reason (which she knew perfectly well, but enjoyed teasing him about), watching Methos do things like that generally gave Duncan a raging hard-on.  She raised one eyebrow at Methos, silently asking him what the hell he was doing.  The innocent tilt to his head and non-committal expression told her that Duncan had started this somehow and that the two of them might well be one-upping each other all day.  Suddenly staying here and hanging decorations for Rachel while the bread rose and carols played sounded infinitely... safe.  That was definitely the word.

Connor saw his cousin's face change right before the floor became incredibly engrossing, or maybe it was the cream swirling in the coffee?  The faint flush on Duncan's face and the controlled set of Aidan's shoulders so that she wouldn't cry or, as seemed more likely in this case laugh -- all of it meshed with the careful way Duncan was keeping the table between himself and his one-time teacher.  Once the older Highlander remembered Robert's -- no, Adam now -- Adam's propensity for taking up challenges and making you regret ever starting anything and his cousin's sprawl against the other man, Connor started chuckling and stood up.

"Aidan, could you possibly make sure you're all downstairs and dressed in an hour?"

The Irish woman laughed at that.  "I promise, Connor, we'll be there.  But better give me another ten minutes.  Somehow they never finish shaving until the hot water runs out."

"How do they run out of hot water just shaving?"  Connor had to hear this one.

"In the shower, MacLeod, how else?  Oh, you must be young enough to still need a mirror.  These youngsters, can't even remember what they're own faces look like in the morning...."  Methos smirked at him from across the room.

Connor shrugged as he stood in the doorway.  "I didn't think you knew what morning was, Robert, to miss the mirror behind your nose.  Breakfast in an hour, you three.  Bring the tray with you."  He closed the door gently behind himself as Aidan cheerfully stripped off her robe and pounced on Methos, pinning him under the blankets.

"Youngsters?  Can't remember our faces in the mirrors?  Early birds, hmm?"  She twisted and reached under the blanket.  "Now, what were you saying about the early worm?"

Duncan laughed and crawled in on the other side.  "You heard the man, we're supposed to be downstairs in an hour.  Let's see.  Thirty minutes to shower, scrub backs and shave, toothpaste and all that other necessary mess.  Five minutes to get dressed..."

"Clotheshorse," Aidan commented, still teasing Methos.  "Three for me."

"... I don't know, Aidan, what'll we do with twenty-five minutes?"  Duncan assumed his best innocent and virtuous look and widened his eyes when Methos growled.

"MacLeod, if your memory is so bad you can't remember what you were saying to me earlier...."

Aidan looked interested.  "What was he saying?  Am I invited?"

Duncan pulled her down, freeing Methos who promptly twisted and wrapped an arm over her to trap Aidan between the two of them.  "Twenty-four minutes, Highlander, do something with your mouth besides talk."

They made it to breakfast on time but still wringing water out of Aidan's hair.

* * * *

Sure enough, Connor's assistant and former ward, Rachel Ellenstein, came in as Aidan was finishing her tea.  Rachel cheerfully grilled the immortal woman for gossip while showing her where all the decorations were stored, as well as the boxes of ornaments, lights and the tree stands.  Aidan smiled and said merrily, "All right, Rachel, two last questions.  Where's the ladder, and where's my list?"

"I left the clipboard in the ballroom for you, since that's where most of this is going.  The ladder is already in there for the wreathing.  Do you need help carrying anything?"  Rachel smoothed blond hair back into place and glanced down at her sensible flats and then at the small mountain of boxes.

"Oh, if you'll take the smaller ones, I'd appreciate the company on the trips."  Aidan pushed up the sleeves on an old, beat-up sweater and hefted the large wrought-iron tree stand, waving away the offer of help.  "I've got it.  I did say I'd come in early and help, Rachel, it's not a problem.  Do you know if Damiano is coming to the party this year?"

"He asked the same thing about you.  Yes, he's coming and bringing a guest for once.  I'm looking forward to this.  The scoundrel told me he wouldn't give me her name because I'd think he was lying.  She already sounds interesting."  Rachel carried a stack of smaller boxes cautiously, not wanting to drop any of the fragile ornaments.

"Oh, please, Mother, let him have a good one this time.  A bottle of Calvados if she's worthwhile, my name on it."  The fervor in Aidan's voice brought a chuckle to Rachel.

"I take it Damien's taste in women is questionable?"

"I helped train the man, he's been a friend for ages, and he has the worst luck with women I've ever seen in my life.  Which is saying quite a bit."

They set down one load and went back for more, trading stories about Connor and Damien's taste in dates and holidays past as they shifted most of the gear to the ballroom for easy access. The ballroom was on the top floor, as had been common years ago in Europe and America, but six trips up the stairs laden with boxes dimmed enthusiasm for the lovely proportions of the room and its gorgeous hardwood floors, even for an immortal who stayed in shape from necessity.  By mutual consent, they left the items for the living quarters (a smaller tree stand, Connor's favorite ornaments, and the more personal decorations, including the nativity scene Connor had gotten years ago in Europe from a good friend now dead) for the last trip since it didn't involve climbing.

Rachel finally sighed and said, "Five minute breather, Aidan, now that we've moved everything?"

Aidan glanced over and frowned; Rachel looked entirely too drawn and tired.  "Are you all right?"

"I've been trying not to come down with something for a few days.  I'll be fine."  She glanced up as the young-looking woman reached for her forehead.  "Aidan...."

"You're a bit hot, but I don't like the feel of your skin, Rachel.  Give me your hand, please."  Aidan rested her fingers on Rachel's wrist, holding the other hand up for silence as she listened through her fingertips.  She pressed harder in the same place, listening still.  Shifting her fingers, Aidan checked another point twice, then the same thing at a third.  Frowning slightly, Aidan repeated that on the other wrist, then lifted her hand and held the palm just over Rachel's throat, then her heart.  "So.  You're sick, but it's not too bad yet.  Let me feed you some spice tea, then I'll give you a rub-down to straighten out some of the energy flows and tuck you in bed for a nap."

"There's work to be done," Rachel pointed out, already wavering.

"I have the list, don't worry.  It won't all get done if you get bronchitis, either, and this is trying to head straight for your lungs.  Let me take care of you today and you'll be fine.  Be stubborn about it and you'll end up in bed for three days at least."

"Are you ever wrong?"

That drew a rueful smile.  "Never about important things.  How do you think I've made it so long?  But I'm aware it can be irritating."

The blond woman smiled at her.  "No, from you it's endearing.  You worry about everyone, don't you?"

A shrug and tilt of the head, mouth pursed into a momentary, reluctant smile, was the only answer that drew.  Aidan pulled Rachel after her into the kitchen and made a small pot of tea, setting out a mug with honey and lemon already in it.

"Here, drink this, Rachel.  So, about tea this afternoon -- Connor already requested scones."  They settled on a menu while Rachel drank two mugs of the tea.  It wasn't noxious, merely sharp-tasting, biting even through the honey.  With the food resolved and scribbled on Aidan's notepad, they moved to the other guest room and got Rachel comfortable on the bed.

Aidan worked across chi points, using her own energy to ease some of the blocked lines in the mortal woman.  The coming sickness was more severe than she'd implied, but why worry Rachel when it could be dealt with?  Once the meridians flowed clearly and Rachel had dropped off into a deep sleep, Aidan pulled the blanket back over her and set the alarm clock for two.  Five hours of sleep ought to start turning the tide; longer than that would just throw off her sleep cycles and be irritating.

By the time Connor and the others got back with the trees, cheerfully harassing each other as they came, cinnamon and pine incense was burning in the ballroom and Aidan was up on a ladder hanging wreathing.

"So, what do you think?" Connor called over his shoulder as he studied the fourteen-foot fir he'd bought for the ballroom.

"I think it's tilting about ten degrees to the right and listing to the back like a sailor on three-day leave," Aidan replied dryly.  All three men tossed insults back and forth while getting the second tree straight in the stand, but finally it was upright.  Duncan looked around appreciatively, seeing just how many boxes of Christmas furnishings had been moved and pine on one wall already. He also knew that the boxes and tree stand downstairs hadn't been there when the three men left.

"Nice work, Aidan."

"No, the real work gets done over the next day or so.  This is just sorting everything out."  But she looked pleased anyway.

Connor looked around for his assistant and finally said, "Did Rachel go run an errand?"

"No, she's upstairs sleeping.  She was trying to get sick, but I think I have it under control."  Aidan didn't keep as much worry out of her voice as she wanted and both MacLeods turned.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure, Connor, but I think it was trying to become walking pneumonia.  It had that feel to it.  It should clear up now, she's sleeping peacefully, but I think we'd do well to keep an eye on her for a day or so."

Methos didn't glance up from where he was untying wreathing but he said calmly, "I'll check on her when she wakes up, Edana.  What have you done so far?"

The two of them dropped into a technical discussion in Mandarin Chinese of what the three pulses had been doing, which chi points had needed to be cleared, and exactly what had been in the tea.  Connor listened to as much of it as he understood and gave Duncan a slightly surprised look when he got lost.

"Do they always do this?"

"I haven't seen it before," Duncan replied calmly.  "But they're good at keeping Joe healthy.  Both of them know acupressure and a fair bit of healing, and Adam's been a doctor once or twice."

Methos nodded once and dropped back into English.  "Sounds about right, but I think it's been caught early enough.  Don't worry about it, Connor.  She'll be fine."

"Done this before?" came the dry reply, but Connor found Duncan and Aidan's confidence reassuring.

Duncan glanced at Methos questioningly.  One of the things all three of them had discussed was telling Connor who 'Adam Pierson' really was.  Both of the younger immortals were willing to continue keeping the secret, but neither really liked deceiving Connor.  Methos sighed mentally and admitted that Connor was one of the most close-mouthed of the immortals and, in his own cynical way, as honorable as Duncan.  The older MacLeod wouldn't come after Methos just because he had five thousand years worth of quickening, and he wouldn't give away Methos' identity either.  A small part of his mind remarked that it would also make Aidan and Duncan happy.

"How's your tolerance for shocks, Highlander?" came Methos' equally sardonic reply.

"Pretty good.  Too early for beer anyway, so talk."

"I've done this once or twice in my life.  My name isn't Adam Pierson or Robert Morgan, Connor.  I'm Methos."  He watched for the reaction to that, knowing damn well that both katanas were in the other room.  The only person with a sword right now was Aidan.

Connor thought about that for awhile, glancing at Duncan and Aidan to see their reactions.  It was obviously no surprise to either of them, which struck him as a good sign, and neither of them looked nervous.  "Somehow, I don't think you're the one who was preaching peace, good will, and lay down our swords," he commented.

"No, that was an idiot who thought using the name Methos would give him more credibility.  I'm the other Methos."  Green-gold eyes sparkled with amusement.  "An interesting form of flattery, I suppose.  It was damned good camouflage for me."

"So you're the oldest immortal?  How old?"  Connor didn't bother to make it sound challenging.  If Adam wasn't Methos, he would have to be a fool to claim it and the other two didn't bed lunatics.

"At least five thousand.  That's when I took my first head.  It's... blurry before that."

Connor shook his head.  "I said your memory was going, didn't I?"  Aidan cracked a grin at that and Methos threw him a casual salute.  "So, sister, I think I'm going to break down and ask.  How old are you?"

Aidan rolled her eyes and groaned, "I suppose you want my first name, too."  The mocking smile she received answered that and she sighed and replied, "My name is -- was? -- Edana ni Emer, Connor.  I'm from Eire as I told you, but I'm over twenty-six centuries old.  And he really is Methos.  He trained Ramirez, then a couple centuries later he trained me.  When I drove him too crazy, he got even with Ramirez by dropping me off to be trained by him."

Duncan laughed and said, "What she isn't telling you, kinsman, is that it took years before she drove Methos that crazy, and more years before Ramirez decided she didn't need any more training."

Connor shook his head.  "No wonder you said you'd teach me a few things with my quickening if I wanted."

She shrugged and reached for the wreathing.  Duncan passed it up to her without a comment.  "If you like, certainly.  You have just the right mix of practicality and mysticism to be very good at it.  But entirely your choice, Connor.  Most of it is rather oddball stuff we found out you can do, and once you learn too much of it, your presence becomes... distinctive."

"Like yours," he said, nodding.

"Well, mine was nothing remarkable when I started studying with Ramirez.  By the time Methos came back from a trip to... what, Rome, I think it was that time?"  Methos nodded and she went on, "He said I had this odd pulse to my signature."

"Your signature matches your pulse, Aidan," came Duncan's comment.  "And it carries your moods with it.  Did no one ever tell you?"

She glanced over in interest, only to teeter on the ladder as she did.  She jumped free neatly and rolled as she hit.  Wreathing thudded onto the ballroom floor, but the ladder swayed and stayed in place.  Aidan sighed,  "You are an evil man, Duncan MacLeod, and I am not going back up on that ladder until you take a vow of silence.  I have no problem with the things when you aren't here."

Connor shook his head.  "I have to hear this one, cousin.  Aidan, stay off the damn ladder anyway.  You can pass wreathing up to me.  So.  Ladders?"

They traded stories while decorating the room, then grinned at each other and pulled out practice swords.  The chance to trade sparring partners back and forth, to work two on two and sometimes three on one, was just too good.  They pulled blows barely enough not to break skin because, as Connor put, "I don't want to take blood out of the floors right before a party."

Aidan pulled out of the spar first, muttering something in Greek about Methos was usually the one who went for rib shots, and saying more loudly, "If we're going to have tea, gentlemen, I'm going to go clean up and cook.  Company and some help would be appreciated?"

Duncan grinned at her complaining -- he recognized the tone if not the words -- and replied smugly, "You always say a bruise is a good reminder of where you're leaving your defenses down."  He glanced over at Connor and Methos still circling each other and told Aidan, "I'll get them moving in a little while.  Go clean up."

"Oh, they're moving.  I'll leave hot water, but we're going to have company in two hours and a little.  The show needs to get on the road, gradhach."  She pulled her sweater back on and set her practice sword by the door.  For all Aidan knew, one of the others would want to fight double sword.  While help in the kitchen would be nice, it wasn't strictly necessary and she didn't really count on getting any.  If guests hadn't been coming, the immortal woman would have stayed in there practicing all afternoon herself.  As it was, she had plans to spar in teams sometime, the oldest against the youngest.  She and Methos ought to give the MacLeods some nasty shocks....

Duncan settled down into an easy crouch on the floor by the boxes of decorations.  A five foot area around the boxes had been designated off-limits, so he was out of their way here and could enjoy the fighting.  Connor was shorter but stockier and burned with that intense will to win; Methos was taller, leaner, a shade faster, and as tricky as Connor was fierce.  It made for a hell of a sparring session to see those two go at it.  Both Methos and Connor went in for hack, thrust and slash, dirty tricks and shoulder slams, leg sweeps and back-fists.

Duncan shook his head watching them go at it.  Both of them were dripping sweat and grinning feral, predatory, laughing smiles.  It was a grand fight and they were loving it.  Not until Duncan felt Aidan's presence move past him toward the kitchen did he realize that he'd been watching them for a good thirty minutes.  "All right, you two, enough for one afternoon.  Come on, it's after two.  Joe and Sol will be here at four.  Showers."

The other immortals nodded to each other and dropped back away from each other in instinctive caution.  Wooden blades came up in casual, unthinking salute to the opponent, and Connor grinned over at Duncan.  "Getting lazy, kinsman?  You've been sitting there watching us."

"No, cousin, getting cool.  Aidan ran me ragged before she went to shower.  Do you think we'll be that fast by the time we make her age?"

Methos snickered.  "She was that fast by your age, Duncan.  She had an incentive; Aidan doesn't carry your muscle."  He scooped up her practice blade and they went to store the weapons and clean up.

Connor commented sardonically, "You can remember that far back, old man?  I thought your memory was going.  Try not to run out all the hot water this time, you two."

Duncan glanced over then gently pushed Methos ahead.  "Go start the water, I'll be there in a second."

"Take too long and I won't leave you any hot water," but the tone was affectionate.

The older Highlander watched his cousin, one eyebrow raised.  After Methos had headed upstairs to shower, he asked, "What, Dhonnchaidh?"

Duncan fell back into the old familiar bluntness with his cousin.  "Are you all right with this?  With me and Methos, I mean, not just all three of us."

That got a smile, that rare smile that went all the way to Connor's eyes and made him look a good five years younger than he already did.  "What, I'm going to be scandalized because you noticed the other half of the population?  Hell, Duncan, at least you're not trying sheep."  In a different tone, more serious, Connor said, "He makes you smile like I haven't seen you since Tessa died.  But I do have one problem with it."

Duncan gave him a worried look.  Connor was one of the few people on this earth whose opinion he respected.  "What?"

"Hell, man, now you have all the fun, most of the good women, and some of the good men.  You're going to get a reputation for being greedy, kinsman."  The older Highlander hadn't been able to resist tweaking him and it was worth the probable bad jokes down the line to see Duncan laugh like that.

"And I thought you might be serious!  By the way, Connor, one question before he steals all the hot water?"  The mischief in those dark brown eyes made his cousin wary immediately.

"What?"

"One of the times you and Aidan were on the phone, she said something about you lost your belt in a fight?'  Merry glee sparkled in his eyes and the younger Highlander waited expectantly for an answer.

"You'll have to ask her, kinsman; I'm not sure what you're talking about."  They grinned at each other, both knowing it for the evasion it was, and Duncan chuckled.

"I'm going to get a shower, Connor.  I'll get Adam to check on Rachel as soon as we're out, all right?"

"Please."  They headed in their separate directions, Connor to luxuriate in one of the few out and out luxuries he had built into this building.  The master bath had its own water heater because the tub in there was as big as the four person jacuzzi at Aidan's place in Seacouver.  If those two thought they were running out his hot water, they were going to be disappointed.

Methos cocked an eyebrow at Duncan when he climbed into the shower.  "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, things are fine, Methos.  Remind me to ask Aidan about Connor, a fight, and his belt, would you?"  Duncan was still chuckling which told the older immortal that whatever he had needed to discuss with his cousin had gone fine.

"That sounds like a promising story.  I'll even remind you when he's around to be embarrassed by it."

"Oh, and if you'll check on Rachel when we get out?  I heard her moving around when I went by."  Duncan sighed as Methos scrubbed his back.

"Of course.  Come on, hurry up, Highlander, before Aidan decides to see how Joe's tolerance for pfeffernusse is.  The stuff's lethal when she makes it."

Duncan choked.  "Oh, God.  I believe it."

* * * *

Connor tossed the requested spices to Aidan, deliberately making her stretch for them.  She growled at him, "MacLeod, you can't be that incompetent.  Either throw them to me or walk over with them.  Don't be such a pain in the ass."

He grinned at her and replied in Gaelic to avoid embarrassing Rachel.  "I thought that was Adam's job?  Or Duncan's?  Do I want to know?"

Aidan tilted her head to one side, raised eyebrow and set of mouth speaking eloquent disdain without a single sound.  "English, Connor, manners.  Surely you can do better than that with such a straight line?"

"Nothing straight about my comment," he replied, but the cinnamon went directly to her hand.

"I noticed."

Rachel looked back and forth between the two, amused by the interplay and a bit frustrated to be sitting down.  Aidan and Connor had been quite vehement that she would sit and rest for once, because they were in no mood to see her sick.  So Rachel sat, if a bit reluctantly, and listened to them joke and tease while she chopped citron for the pfeffernusse that Aidan had promised her.  She hadn't had a batch of the strongly-flavored German Christmas cookies in ages.  However one thing had been puzzling her and she finally asked.

"Aidan?"

The immortal woman turned to see what the question was, hearing a more personal tone to the voice than usual with Rachel.  The two women liked each other, but Rachel never opened herself easily to others; as a result,  their friendship had been growing in a slow, uneven progression over the years they'd known each other.  "What is it, Rachel?"

"I don't mean to pry, but I didn't think you were Christian."

That got a chuckle and almost automatically Aidan checked to see that her oak leaf necklace hung securely around her neck.  "You thought correctly, Rachel, I'm not.  Never picked up the habit."  She glanced quickly at Connor.  "Don't even say that pun, Connor, I heard it.  We'll discuss me and holy orders another time."

"So, if you aren't a Christian, why are you celebrating Christmas?  You've been decorating the house, playing carols, and you even know Christmas cookie recipes.  I don't understand."  Rachel kept chopping the fruit as she asked, hands working automatically.

Aidan smiled at her, still stirring spices and flour together.  "Simple enough, Rachel.  This started out as one of the early solar holidays, stolen straight from the cult of Mitra."  She cocked her head at the mortal.  "Familiar with the name?"

"Worshipped by the Romans among others, wasn't He?"

"Good enough for this.  A solar god and a soldier's god, really.  In any case, His birthday was December 25 and the Christians borrowed the date for ease of familiarity, since quite a few Roman soldiers were followers of Mitra.  Now, a Mitraic I'm not, but it's an old festival that I'm long familiar with, and why not give my friends gifts then?  Few enough left who worship on the old solar days I'm used to -- Imbolc and Beltane, Lammas and Samhain, and of course the Solstices and Equinoxes.  What's another four days to trade presents if it makes them happy?  And I happen to like Christmas carols.  They count as some of the most beautiful music produced by Christianity, and in all honesty only the music and architecture of that religion redeem it so far as I'm concerned.  Apologies for any offense, brother."

Connor raised an eyebrow.  "Why apologize?  Although I didn't realize you disliked it that much."

"Gods, don't start me.  The list of their offenses begins with the publication and endorsement of the opinions of the traitorous misogynist turncoat Paul and works its way through such minor details as the Crusades and the Inquisition up to the current Catholic policies on homosexuality and birth control.  I have a great and abiding loathing of the Christian church, brother, although I dearly love more than a few Christians.  Had they stuck with the professed words of Christ, they would be tolerable, even pleasant neighbors -- "  She stopped short and turned back to her baking.  "I did say not to start me."

Rachel had quit chopping to watch and listen in fascination.  "I don't think I've ever heard you so passionate about something.  Well, except for Dani."

That drew a quirked smile that faded almost immediately.  "It was impossible not to be passionate about her, Rachel.  At least for me."  Aidan glanced up as Methos and Duncan came in and quietly changed the subject.  "Clean, I hope?"

"That depends on whether I have to cook if I'm clean," Methos promptly replied.

"Not if I have to argue with you about spices," she answered calmly.  "But if you would please see about punching down and kneading the bread dough, I'd appreciate it."

Rachel cautiously pressed back onto the topic.  "Do you mind if I keep asking?"

"No, Rachel, I don't mind.  I'll try not to perch on the soapbox.  What's the question?"  Aidan calmly pointed at the coffee pot and said, "Connor, I need a mug of that, please.  Unpolluted, thanks, it's for the cookies."

Methos groaned, "Oh, Gods, you're making pfeffernusse, aren't you?"

"Yes, and I'm making a double batch so the rest of us will get some."

Duncan laughed at that.  "I thought he didn't like it."

"Goddess, no, Duncan, he'll eat half of it. Then he doesn't like it, because he gets hyper on the stuff.  Very entertaining to watch.  If you'd ever use some self-control, Adam, you wouldn't have a problem, " she chuckled.  "Sorry, Rachel, you were saying?"

Rachel handed over the bowl of chopped citron for the cookies and asked, "So if you aren't Christian, what religion do you follow?  Or do you?"

Aidan shrugged.  "These days I'd be called a pagan.  I worship the Gods and Goddesses of nature, to put it simply.  I don't usually go in for the full formal rites at full and new moon the way some of the Wiccans do, but they need the framework.  They don't get the same solidity and permanence from the religion that Christians or Jews do.  The Wiccans don't have evidence of an unbroken tradition running back centuries, something solid enough to lean on and occasionally take for granted.  I do.  So I celebrate the solar holidays for the pleasure of them, and to ground myself in the years, and let the lunar fend for themselves."

She turned to watch Methos for a moment as he worked on the bread dough.  The prosaic actions reassured her, settled the good mood more firmly around them all.  Hard to be unhappy or out of sorts when the kitchen smelled of cookies and rang with the sounds of friendly voices, when the familiar shapes of loved ones moved in such everyday tasks as preparing food and in the casual touches of people at ease with themselves and others.

For a long moment the motions of Methos' shoulders, arms and hands as he kneaded the bread dough threw her back into some of her earliest memories.  She didn't hear Christmas carols; she heard the stream flowing past the stone cottage where they had lived and she had trained to survive the Game.  Cold wind teased through the stone walls and peat crackled in the fireplace in her memories as Methos made the bread for the next few days while teaching her yet another foreign language, teasing her about the coming Midwinter's festival and her birthday to follow at Imbolc -- her first birthday since her first death.

Duncan noticed that she had vanished mentally somewhere into her past; he knew that abstracted look, had worn it often enough himself.  At least this memory seemed pleasant enough, but why wait and find out otherwise?  He moved behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and catching the mixing bowl with his hand just under hers.  Leaning in, he brushed a kiss just under her ear and whispered, "Aidan, it's December of 1997 and we have guests coming in an hour or so."  He felt the change in her body language as she came back from wherever and whenever she'd been.

"Thank you, Duncan.  Sorry about that."  She gave him a rueful smile and measured the coffee out, stirring it into the eggs and sugar.

"It's all right, but you were a thousand miles away.  Where were you?"

That drew a smile and she said softly, "In Eire, back when I was still in my twenties.  Close enough, I suppose.  Will you pass the other bowl, please?"

The others had seen her hesitation and Rachel changed the subject to art with a question to Connor about the antique glass ornaments for the tree.  Seeing Duncan with Aidan reassured Rachel for both of them.  She was genuinely fond of Connor's 'sister,' and Duncan had been first an uncle to her and then a very good friend.  His immediate worry for Aidan and the easy way she leaned against him for a moment before straightening and smilingly waving him off eased Rachel's unspoken, only half-realized concerns.

His hands clean from putting the bread to rise, Adam moved over and wrapped one arm around Duncan's waist.  The other hand rose to cup Aidan's cheek while hazel eyes studied her carefully.  She smiled and turned her face to kiss his palm, then gestured him away, too, with an imperious motion of her chin.  Rachel tried not to stare but it was very obvious to her that all three of them were lovers, the two men as much as either man with Aidan.  That she had never expected from Duncan.

The mortal woman turned her attention to the carrots she was cutting for tea, trying to compose herself.  Her concentration was such that it surprised Rachel when she saw a long-fingered hand move across her sight and wrap gently around her wrist.

Adam said quietly, "I need to check your pulse if you don't mind.  Aidan's covered in flour and baking soda, so she delegated the job."

"I feel fine, honestly, Adam.  This is all a lot of fuss for nothing."  Rachel flushed slightly, both from her own thoughts earlier and from embarrassment over all the coddling.

"No, it's not nothing.  You're important to all three of them.  I'm rather fond of you, myself," Methos answered quietly.  "Hush, and let me listen."  He crouched next to her chair, checking her wrist the same way Aidan had, feeling twice in one place, then a second, then a third and then doing the same thing on the other wrist.  That done, he leaned Rachel forward in her chair, impersonal as any physician, and set his ear against her back to listen to her breathing.  Without looking up he called out, "Aidan, you were right.  Did you mix a second set of those herbs?"

"Of course I did," she replied immediately.  "Duncan, put the kettle on, please.  Connor, grab a mug and the honey and lemon, if you would."  Aidan finished cutting out the cookies and pointed with one bare foot to the jar full of spice mixture.  "That for the teapot, Dhonnchaidh."

Methos settled Rachel back into her chair and took the cutting board and carrots away from her.  "Tired again?"

"I've only been awake half an hour, Adam," Rachel protested automatically but she didn't have the energy she should and it was frightening her badly.  Only Aidan' s quick, matter of fact treatment of the whole situation reassured her.  It seemed to Rachel that anyone who had made it at least six hundred years should know when to be scared and Aidan wasn't.  But somehow that was cold comfort at the moment.

"True enough, but you have entirely too much fluid around your lungs.  That kind of pressure by itself makes breathing difficult, and your body is fighting this.  You're right on the verge of being very sick indeed.  If Aidan hadn't caught it this morning, you'd have been in a hospital by tomorrow night with pneumonia."

Methos caught her gaze with his own and said quietly, "You, Rachel, are going to stay in the guest room for the next couple days and drink teas, and sleep, and let us pamper you thoroughly, so that you don't spend Christmas in a hospital."

Connor settled onto one knee on the other side of her chair and said firmly, "Don't argue, Rachel.  We're doing it their way, or I take you to a doctor now and we pump you full of antibiotics, and you still stay where we can keep an eye on you.  He's right; you're pale and you look tired.  You'll scare Sol if you're not careful."

"That was a low blow, Connor MacLeod!"  She said it indignantly, but breathing wasn't as easy at it should have been.

"Aye, that it was.  We do it my way, Rachel.  You're staying in the guest room.  I'll go get you some clothes this evening.  In the meantime, Aidan can loan you a robe or something."

Aidan smiled sympathetically at her.  "We're going to gang up on you until you're well.  Consider it an unexpected vacation, why don't you?"

"If it were a vacation, I'd be someplace warm, like Jamaica," Rachel said acerbically.

That did get a laugh and Aidan turned to pull the first batch of cookies out of the oven.  "Between the cookies, the scones, the bread, and the soup, this room is going to be more than warm enough, Rachel."  The tea-kettle whistled at that moment and between getting Rachel settled with her tea and some aspirin and finishing the food, the next hour passed very quickly.

Connor didn't know if the tea had done it or the rest, but Rachel's color did look a little better.  When the doorbell rang, he waved her back into her seat and went to let their guest in.

Methos looked up from the crossword puzzle all of them were doing as a joint project (more slowly than usual because Aidan and Duncan were still cooking) when he heard Connor come back in with company.   The small man who walked in was almost a parody of the Hollywood portrayal of the European Jew.  He was fragile-looking, standing only 5' 5" tall, although his presence and bearing gave the impression that time had compacted him, leaving him to settle in on himself as he grew older.  He moved slowly but without leaning on his cane and the dark brown eyes under bushy grey brows were alert and alive, seeing everything in the kitchen from Rachel tapping a pen on a question for the crossword to Duncan and Aidan moving around each other at the stove.

Aidan turned around and cried, "Sol!" so happily that Methos promptly gave the man brownie points.  Edana's friends were usually interesting.  She immediately hugged the little man so thoroughly and so carefully that he couldn't move but wasn't knocked off balance.  Duncan was also grinning and obviously waiting for Aidan to be done so he could say his own hellos.

Sol smiled at her and chirped, "My dear, you look as lovely as ever.  How long has it been, six years?  And never at Christmas."

Aidan smiled and released him from the hug.  "Well, I had my reasons.  And it's been five years, I think.  You've met Duncan before, haven't you?  Russell's cousin?"

"Of course I have.  Duncan, it is a pleasure.  Last year, yes?  I think you were heading to Paris, then."

"Aye, I was.  It's good to see you, Sol.  Sol, we'd like to introduce you to a friend of ours, Adam Pierson.  Adam, this is Solomon Goldberg."

Methos' eyes widened in startled shock.  He knew damned well who Sol Goldberg was, but it hadn't occurred to him to connect Connor and Rachel's friend to that last name.  They'd had been correspondents for years and the other man's relaxed, witty letters had always been a highpoint of Methos' day when they arrived.  But he'd had no idea Connor's Watcher came over for tea once a week!

Aidan saw Methos' recognition and her mind slammed into overdrive.  She glanced down at Sol's wrist to see if a tattoo showed past the sweater and shirt cuffs, saw nothing, and had begun to relax when his rings snagged her gaze.  He always wore his wedding ring, although he'd been a widower for the entire time she knew him.  His Anna had been the light of his life and he was justly proud of having never taken the ring off once.  The sapphire signet on the other hand she had always thought to be a school memento, but now that she looked she knew the symbol incised into it.  Oh, yes, she'd seen the symbol on Joe's wrist before!

Connor was taken aback when Aidan slumped into a chair by the table and put her head in her hands, groaning.  Rachel and Duncan stared as Aidan said in Greek, "Goddess, it's not fair!  Just once could you let me dislike one of them?!"

Methos reached out for her, but before he could say anything, the doorbell rang again.  Connor said grimly, "I'll be right back.  Aidan, whatever it is -- don't."

Sol reached out and ran a gentle, callused hand down her hair.  "My dear, what's wrong?  What is it?"

Joe Dawson walked into the kitchen, guitar case in one hand and cane in the other, then stared in surprise.  "Sol?  What are you doing here?"

"Joseph, I had thought you were going shopping?"  Now Sol looked equally surprised.

In English this time, Aidan said tiredly, "So how many covers have just been blown to hell?"

Sol turned to look at her as Joe said, "They know, Sol.  At least, Duncan and Aidan do and I suspect Connor does by now."

Connor replied caustically, "I'm going to before the evening's over.  Everyone sit down.  I think something to drink would be a good idea before we start sorting this out."

Sol had continued to run his hand down Aidan's hair, smoothing strands back into the braid.  "Oh, my very dear, is that what worried you?  I have wondered for a while now, but I thought that surely if you were an immortal someone would already know.  And if they did not know, well, I'm an old man, I can be excused not seeing these things.  Young Pierson, I was most distressed to find that you had left us, but I think I can understand why, now."

Rachel stood up and took charge.  "Aidan, stay there.  Adam, get her something to drink.  We should have plenty of beer and hard cider.  Sol, it's wonderful to see you; please, have a seat.  Connor, Duncan, turn off everything on the stove so nothing burns.  Mr. Dawson, I'm Rachel Ellenstein, we've spoken before.  It's a pleasure to meet you.  Why don't you put down the guitar and come sit at the table?  I think this may take awhile."

"Make it Joe, why don't you?  And it might.  Aidan, you okay?"

"Just once, Joe, I wish I could hate one of you.  Just once.  I loathe being spied on."  She sounded miserable, torn between her love of the people and her dislike of their actions, but Aidan forced herself to sit up and put her attention to the more important matters.  "Rachel, sit down, all right?"

Connor said incredulously, "Spied on?  One of who, Aidan?  What is this?"

At the same time Sol said fiercely, "Not us, my dear.  There may be some who do, but not me and not Joseph here."

Methos put a glass of hard cider in front of the Irish immortal and tilted her chin up with one long-fingered hand.  Heedless of Sol or Rachel's reactions he kissed her long and sweetly, laying siege to her mouth until she yielded, then using all his skill and love to reassure her and ease her distress.

Aidan wrapped her arms around him and for once let herself hide from the world in someone else's protection.  It had never crossed her mind that Sol could be a Watcher, and she wasn't going to unleash her temper this time.  She wasn't.

Duncan glanced over long enough to be sure Aidan was all right, then turned his attention back to Connor.  "There are some historians, cousin, who call themselves Watchers.  They know about us; they've been watching immortals for centuries.  Most of them are neutral observers.  When they aren't, they police their own.  Joe is my Watcher, which I found out by accident.  He said 'the hell with the Prime Directive,' " that drew a grin from Connor, "and actually talks to me.  We've been friends for a while now.

"And unless I completely misread all that just now, Sol is Watching you."  Duncan grinned at the little Jew.  "I'll tell you, I would have never thought it."  Seeing that Methos had let Aidan come up for air, Duncan queried him with eyes and eyebrows, getting a slight shake of the head in return.  "Something gave him away to Aidan, I'm not sure what."

Connor tilted his head to one side, hands stuffed in pockets, and looked at Methos.  "Left them, hmm?  You were a Watcher?"

"One of their researchers.  I worked on the Methos chronicles.  Difficult task, they lost track of him about five centuries ago, but fascinating.  All the languages the chronicles are in...."  Methos grinned at Connor, knowing the other immortal would have plenty of questions and sarcastic comments much later.

"So why did you quit?"

"Conflict of interest.  I knew they'd have a fit about my being in love with an immortal.  Much less two."  His hands were stroking down Aidan's back over the sweater.  He could feel the sword and harness, but he could also feel her shivering.

Sol perked up at that.  "Two of them, young Adam?  Who else?  And how did someone so young learn such skill with the old languages?"

Duncan crossed the kitchen to stand with his lovers, one hand rubbing comfortingly at Aidan's shoulders.  He didn't like the quiver in her muscles; she was exerting too much control on herself.  "Two of us, Sol.  And he's just good with languages."

"Well, I forgive you now for leaving us, but I tell you, your replacement is much too serious.  Very stuffy, very pompous.  And not nearly so skilled at finding answers or leads."  Sol made no comment on the odd relationships.  When you lived as long as immortals did, you loved where you loved.  And the three were so happy together, he could see it in the way they stood, the way Aidan had turned so swiftly into the offered comfort, the way both of the men reached to give that solace.  Oh, yes, this was good.

_Although it would have been much wiser of the organization to bring young Pierson back, somehow.  Even an admittedly biased account from him would be incredibly helpful.  But, ah, young Adam, you are braver than most to be the one mortal in this triangle.  I hope you are not hurt in years to come._

Adam meanwhile laughed.  "He is a pompous prick, isn't he?  They didn't give me any say in it; they were too annoyed that I was leaving."

Joe commented, "Well, it's not like you're entirely gone.  It's amazing how many of the young Watchers go by Shakespeare and Company to buy books and just happen to bring problems with them."

Rachel sounded exasperated as she said, "Excuse me, what is going on?  Spies?"

Duncan knelt next to Aidan who was still wrapped around Methos, saying over his shoulder, "Excuse us for a minute."  Switching over to Gaelic, he said quietly, "Edana, are you all right?  Can we help?"  At the same time, he wrapped large, warm hands over her shoulders.  Methos dropped his hands to her waist, making room for their younger lover.

She shivered one last time, then slammed down controls honed and perfected over the centuries.  Too dangerous to be this mercurial and she knew it.  Outwardly, she took a deep breath and held it, then exhaled slowly until it seemed she would never have air in her lungs again.  Straightening up, Aidan said quietly in English, "I'm all right, Duncan.  My apologies for making a scene."

Both of them knew what she had done, knew the emotions would have to be dealt with later... but it was her right to pick where and with whom, if anyone.  She was perfectly capable of deciding to dance herself into exhaustion to cope if that was what she wanted to do.

Methos met her eyes and said quietly, "We're all friends here.  But one of these days will you try to explain to me why you loathe the Watchers so much?  I've heard you discuss anthropology works calmly and the Watchers are almost a specific type of anthropologist... although they're generally better writers," he said dryly, knowing her opinions on that subject and agreeing with them.

Despite herself, a smile twitched at her lips on that.  "One day, maybe," she agreed without enthusiasm.  "It's several things, Adam, not any one thing alone."

Duncan scooped her up and then sat down in her vacated chair, setting Aidan into his lap.  Methos moved his chair next to both of them and the three of them listened to hear where the conversation had gone while they were otherwise occupied.

Sol was in the process of telling his immortal, "Of course I don't follow you to challenges, Connor.  For one thing, I'm an old man; I don't walk so fast as I used to.  This is why I have grandsons."

Joe looked down at the floor, shaking his head as he started laughing almost helplessly.  "Oh, man, Sol, I had no idea...."

Connor grinned in amusement.  "So all these years of playing chess and drinking tea and seeing what the store has in this week, you were keeping tabs on me for these Watchers?"

"Well, what was I going to do, hmm?  Use a telescope and rent a room across the street?  A man should have some privacy.  But I came to tea for the reason I always come to tea -- Rachel's company.  You I can meet in the park for chess and a sandwich.  But it is much nicer to see Rachel here, to drink tea and talk about the old country."

Sol shrugged.  "Besides, I like you, Connor MacLeod.  Much better to use your real name, I think.  Someone should be writing these things who likes you, who cares who wins.  Not like some of the arrogant ones.  I will never forget the bastard -- excuse me, Rachel, Aidan -- who was assigned to the Kurgan at the end.  He didn't care who won the fights, who won the Gathering.  Almost I think he would have liked to see the immortals dead just for being immortal, but there was no proving it."

Duncan asked intently, "Sol, who was that?"  If they'd missed one of the Hunters....

"James Horton, his name was."

Duncan hissed in rage.  "Horton."

Aidan's eyes narrowed but she said nothing.  She could think of nothing that the man deserved to have said about him which would not hurt Joe.  Bastard though Horton had become, he had married Joe's sister, fathered Joe's niece, and Joe Dawson didn't deserve to be raked through this again.  All of that passed through her mind in a heartbeat and she reached up, laying one finger across Duncan's lips.  "Hush, mo cridhe.  Have done, he's dead."

Looking at the elderly man, Aidan said gently, "Sol, does the Tribunal know you come over for tea?'

"Of course not, Aidan, I'm an old man and crotchety.  I send them reports, keep my Chronicle on Connor MacLeod, and don't tell them how I find anything out.  Do they need to know that Connor likes to advance his pawns and follow with a rook?  Hmm?  Do they need to know that Rachel makes shortbread like no one since I left Germany?  There are things that must be noted for the Chronicles and then there are things that are no business of some future, unknown reader.  Where's the harm?"

"So long as these Watchers don't touch you, none."

"I'm an old man, Aidan.  What are they going to do, shoot me?"   He shrugged, but she could see in his eyes that he knew the possibilities.  "My Anna is gone.  They do not frighten me."

Aidan only said softly, "Nor should they.  But if they kill you, I will kill them.  I will find them and kill them all, one at a time."

Joe's eyes widened but he didn't say a word.  There was no stopping this.  It had been too late from the moment she found out about the Watchers, and the Tribunal that found him guilty of the deaths of Watchers he had never known, killed by immortals who had never talked to Duncan MacLeod, Rich Ryan, or Amanda Darrieux.  Joe had had no hand in their deaths; it was only the increasing paranoia of immortals in a world of fingerprints, computer records and video recorders that led to the deaths of agents who simply got careless.  But the Tribunal had decided that since the rise in deaths coincided with the start of Joe's friendship with Duncan that it was Joe's fault.  Left alone they would have killed both Joe and Duncan.

No matter that the real trouble had come from James Horton and his Hunters, Watchers gone bad who killed immortals.  No matter that the Hunters had shattered the Watcher oaths far worse than Joe ever had, or Sol for that matter.  No matter that some of the Watchers who died, maybe most, had probably been Hunters who got exactly what they deserved from immortals who held out against modern weaponry as well as they did against swords.

Joe had been held accountable and neither Aidan nor Duncan would ever forgive the Watchers, and their Tribunal, for that.  Methos had left the Watchers immediately after, and though he had never said so, Joe had always suspected that it had less to do with Mac's 'us or them' speech and more to do with the kangaroo court that had tried to keep 'Adam Pierson' from testifying for his friend, Joe Dawson.

Sol reached for Aidan's hand and replied, "My dear, it's not worth your life, not worth your hate."

"It's too late for that, Sol.  I do not accept that they have a right to spy on me.  I do not accept that they have a right to threaten Joe for being a friend of Duncan's, nor you for that you're a friend to Connor.  And I will not permit them to start a war between Watchers and immortals, or to bring on the Gathering."  Her voice was implacable.

Connor met her eyes, his own gold and black.  "If something goes wrong, sister, you had better call me.  And reserve me a seat on the plane.  I didn't tolerate guilt by association in Nazi Germany.  I won't do it now."

Rachel nodded.  "Good.  Don't."

The two Watchers exchanged glances, flattered and worried both.  This was a problem they had not anticipated in their wildest dreams.  Getting caught fraternizing with their assigned immortal had always been a possibility, but being avenged hadn't occurred to them. _How do you stop an angry immortal?_ Joe thought wildly.  _Practice, practice, practice!_

Sol said calmly, "My dears, there is no point in dwelling on it.  They are such _putzes_ over there -- excuse me again, Rachel, Aidan -- in the Headquarters, particularly now that young Adam is gone, that it would never occur to them that an old man would bend their rules.  They think the old are law-abiding; I can't imagine why."

Duncan choked on a laugh at that.  "Law-abiding, Sol?  How could they think that of you?"

The little man shrugged, amused.  "Because, Duncan, they have no imagination.  With a very few exceptions."  He smiled over at Joe Dawson, knowing full well that the man was dating one of the best Watcher researchers left.

At that Aidan chuckled, resting her head against Duncan's shoulder.  Joe replied, "Speaking of imagination, by the way, someone hand me the guitar case.  I found a song a while back that's finally ready for the public."

Methos knew damn well Joe was trying to defuse the tension; it sounded like a very good idea.  He passed the bluesman his guitar and asked, "So what kind of beer do you want?"

"Cold and wet, what else?  Aidan, do I smell your homemade bread?"

She smiled at him reluctantly, knowing he was changing the subject.  "Yes, you do.  Are you hungry, then?  How about the rest of you?"

"Pass around some of the vegetables and cheese," Connor suggested, "and after we decorate the tree we'll eat.  Joe, bring the guitar along and we'll move to the den with this.  Time Aidan did something useful around here," he said to hear her sputter.

"Connor!"

"Come on, sister, you don't have to climb on the ladder.  I'll make Duncan do the lights on the big tree.  Rachel, you and Sol can supervise."

Eventually they settled in the den with Christmas music playing and Aidan laughing at the insanity of it all.  "Somehow, this is just a bit much," she said, waving a hand at the room.

Duncan glanced around and asked, "What?  Adam, pass me that box."

"Duncan, look at this.  We have a Watcher playing Christmas carols for us, two Jews supervising the decorating of a Christmas tree, and four immortals cursing the needles on a pine tree," and she indicated Connor who was in fact absently sucking the blood out of a puncture wound gained while hanging lights.

She saw Duncan's eyes widen slightly and her mind rewound what she said.  Centuries of experience allowed her to control her facial expressions and she hoped desperately that Sol had missed that... but she doubted it.  "I mean, Gods, the only thing that makes this any better is that you have a stolen pagan habit -- a tree decorated with wishes and offerings -- being performed by a pagan priestess.  This, at least, I have practice at."

Adam passed her his beer, eyebrows raised slightly and a rueful look on his face.  She murmured softly, "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, Edana."  He whispered it as he collected a brief kiss from her.

Sol said with great dignity, "I'm sure that my hearing aid was turned down, Aidan.  Did you say something?"

Methos chuckled at that.  "You don't wear a hearing aid, Sol.  And it's all right.  I did say there was a conflict of interest.  I was very surprised to come back to life after Melvin Koren put a knife through my heart.  Duncan thought he was just acquiring a student, neither of us really expected any of this," and the oldest immortal waved a hand at himself, Duncan, and Aidan as if to indicate confusion and happiness.

Joe blanched as he realized that one, Adam had just admitted to being an immortal, and two, he was blaming it on Melvin.... _Kronos?!  Oh my God_, ran despairingly through his mind.

Connor raised an eyebrow then said obligingly, "Oh, is that what happened?  You two never said.  Duncan, shouldn't you let Aidan train him?  Aren't you still working on Richie Ryan?"

"Rich is mostly out on the road these days, Connor.  And Adam's coming to the Game a bit late; his sword training is taking me and Aidan both."

Aidan carried a box of ornaments to the tree, so that she could turn her back to the others and let the grin escape. _Sword practice indeed!  Well, I suppose that makes me a sheath...._

Joe hastily said, "Damn it, did you all have to actually confirm this?  I didn't need to know this officially.  Watcher HQ will have a real fit that their former researcher was a pre-immortal!"

Rachel said calmly, "So who said you were on duty, Joe?  I thought you were just playing guitar for some friends at an early Christmas celebration."

Sol shrugged and said, "I myself heard nothing, Joseph, other than that young Adam here was in love with both of these people.  I see the two MacLeods, who are well known to be immortals, and I see the lovely Aidan who might be, or might not, I am an old man and foolish.  Young Pierson is a former Watcher; surely he would tell us if he happened to be healing extremely quickly."

Duncan started laughing at that.  "Oh, I'm sure he would, wouldn't you, Adam?"

"Oh, of course, Duncan.  We didn't get rid of everyone like Shapiro.  I'm sure I'd tell them immediately," he replied sardonically.  "You need to hang one of those down and to the right."

"Everyone's a critic," Duncan grumbled.

"Well, he's right, Duncan.  That's a great deal of red in that one spot.  I know you like red, but still," Rachel said.  "Aidan, the icicles are getting a bit thin on the left side."

"I know, Rachel, but right now I'm working on this side," the immortal woman cheerfully replied.  "Connor, can you get--"  He passed her the box before she could finish the sentence.  "Thanks."

At last they had all the ornaments on the tree, and Rachel passed them the box with the angel.  Aidan stopped to admire it again, even as little as she liked some of the Christian trappings of the holiday.  Then she studied the eight foot tree and sighed.  "All right, Duncan, come here."

The taller Scot said, "I'll bring a chair over."

"Why?  Let me up on your shoulders and Adam or Connor can pass the angel up once I'm balanced."  She reached for his hand and Duncan shook his head, still chuckling, and braced a leg for her to climb up.

"You know, there are easier ways... watch the hair... to do this," he laughed as she sat on his shoulders, pulling his ponytail out from under one leg.

"Oh, of course there are, but this is magic, Duncan.  The easy way is rarely the right one.  It should always be as personal as possible, it works better that way."  Her voice was light but completely serious nonetheless and Duncan and Connor both paused in surprise.

"What do you mean it's magic, Aidan?" Connor asked.

"Pass me the angel, would you, Adam?"  She contemplated the top of the tree then said, "No, hold on, let's do this right.  Give me a boost, Duncan.  I know you and Amanda have done this, don't argue with me."

He leaned forward and counted down from three as she shifted her weight on him.  On one he used thighs and hands to throw her into the air and she pulled her feet up, coming down to stand neatly on his shoulders.  He steadied her with his hands for a second until they both had the balance.  "Make sure you go backwards if you fall, all right?"

"Oh, Gods, break the ornaments on this tree, are you joking, MacLeod?  I'd rather break my own neck.  At least I have a guaranteed warranty, bumper to bumper so to speak."  She sighed as he wrapped hands around her calves, bracing her.  "All right, Adam, now pass me the angel."

"Here."  Methos handed it up to her and moved to spot her just in case she lost her balance.  He had noticed that Duncan being in the area somehow made ladders hazardous for her and hoped it was only ladders and not heights in general.

"Ah, thanks.  All right," and she reached down for his hand with one of hers for the extra security.  "Got me?  Good."  She leaned sideways to place the angel on the top of the tree, holding to Methos' hand for balance.  She took an extra second to make sure it was securely settled before asking, "Rachel, how does that look?"

"You look precarious but the angel looks perfect.  So does the entire tree.  Get down from there, would you?"  Rachel shook her head, chuckling very softly.  Immortals could be the most serious people in the world until they turned into overgrown children, she decided.

Duncan backed carefully away from the tree, Aidan still on his shoulders.  Once they were safely away,  he caught her hands and boosted her up off his shoulders to land in front of him.  Adam caught her lightly around the waist as Aidan landed.  "Thanks, loves.  And of course it's magic, Connor.  It's wishes for the future, hopes for prosperity, offerings to the Gods -- even if only symbolic -- for luck and love and anything else you need.  It's one of the oldest ritual magics still practiced.  Did you not know?"

Sol chirped, "Well of course it is, but the Church has denied it for centuries now, how would they know, hmm?  That is something the pagans discuss and the theologians reluctantly concede when pressed.  Connor is neither."

Aidan smiled at that.  "You have a point."  She plugged in the tree lights and Connor turned off the room lights.  All of them sighed at the twinkling lights and reflective glass in the darkness.

Methos gave it a few minutes, then said firmly, "Tea.  Now.  I'm hungry and the rest of you should be."

"I'll be there in a minute.  I need to finish some things here."  Aidan sat down in front of the tree, arms wrapped around her knees.

Duncan dropped a kiss on top of her head and murmured, "Not too long, acushla, or Joe and Sol will think you're angry with them."

"I know.  A few minutes, I promise, but the spell needs to be tied off, Dhonnchaidh."  She tilted her head back and he kissed her again, then went to eat.

* * * *

The dinner discussion had stayed on neutral topics, or at least more neutral than the emotionally charged subjects of immortality and Watchers.  Sol and Joe left late and reluctantly, promising to come back the next day and keep Aidan and Rachel company for the holiday baking.  Both had been recruited, Aidan gleefully informed them, on condition that they brought their canes along.  They had strict orders to smack any immortal attempting to steal cookies, cookie dough, or raw ingredients for said cookie dough.  Watching Adam's face get steadily more crestfallen with each phrase on the list had been hilarious, even though she knew he was doing it deliberately to make her laugh.

Duncan had made the mistake of asking, "So what are we supposed to do while you're baking?"

Aidan gave him a level, sardonic look.  Joe snorted in disgust and said, "Four hundred years old and you're still asking something like that?  Adam must be falling down on the job."  Sol had smiled at that and dragged his old friend out the door, pointing out that it was late already and his grandsons would be worried.

Aidan meanwhile pointed to the clipboard on the table and used the line all three male immortals still dreaded from the days of renovating her house.  "There's the list.  Assuming, of course, you can't think of something better to do with your time?"  The sweetly inquiring tone and raised eyebrow made Rachel laugh so hard she started coughing, which drew instant apologies from Aidan.

Adam settled onto his haunches next to Rachel's chair, checking on her.  When he finished, the calm pronouncement was, "More tea and you're off to bed."

Connor gave his assistant a level stare from those expressive gold eyes which stopped her complaints immediately.  "Which means we'll move this into the living room to be away from the guest rooms.  But you'll be getting some sleep, Rachel."

"Rachel, does Connor have keys to your apartment?  And what would you like us to pick up for you in the way of clothes and toiletries and such?"  Aidan pulled out some scrap paper and got the list from Rachel while Adam was setting up the tea.  After a murmured promise to keep the secret, she even agreed to pick up the romance novels Connor didn't know his assistant read, since Rachel had given in and accepted that the immortals were going to make her rest.

* * * *

Once Aidan returned, Rachel also agreed, through stifled laughter, to let the immortal woman borrow one of her romance novels: _Blade of the MacLeods_.

* * * *

Sol stretched carefully in his chair, then pushed the bowl of mixed spices and flour to Aidan.  "There, my dear.  When you are ready for it."

Rachel reached over and dropped the nuts in, stirring the whole mix.  Very thoughtfully she said, "They're being too quiet you realize."

Joe grinned over from where he was placing almonds on top of cookies to be baked.  The Watcher was enjoying this.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten to just sit around and get ready for the holidays in such relaxed company where he didn't have to be careful what he said to who.  "Oh, yeah, Rachel, they are.  Of course, it's only been..." and he ostentatiously checked his watch, grinning at the door where he could see Adam lurking, "... thirty-eight minutes since the last attempted cookie-raid.  We're probably safe for another ten minutes at least, and another hour from Connor since Aidan smacked him on the knuckles with that wooden spoon."

Sol asked in great interest, "My dear, were you ever a nun or was Connor simply indulging in hyperbole?"

Aidan turned to answer him and then shrieked in mock indignation as Methos moved past her, stole the basket of pfeffernusse, and kept going.  "Damn it, Adam, come back here with that!  Hey, save a few for the cook, you wretch!  Dhonnchaidh!  Connor!"  The masculine laughter from the other room told her that her pleas had fallen on deaf ears and she gave into the giggles herself.

"Oh, well."  Grey eyes tried to glare at Joe and didn't really manage to be menacing.  "Ten minutes, hmm?  I thought you were a trained observer?"

"I am.  I'm also male.  I thought I'd help out before there were any more complaints about traitors," Joe answered.  "But if I don't get my share of those, anyone going for a beer is going to get hit with a cane," he called into the next room.

A cookie came flying through the air and Joe snagged it neatly.  "Nice catch," Aidan chuckled.  "And no, Sol, I was never a nun.  I've never taken any orders within the Jewish or Christian faiths.  Or Moslem, for that matter," she added thoughtfully.

"Hmm.  My dear, since I'm only over here to help a good friend with baking, and since Joseph is only here to indulge an old man with his company...."

Joe snorted, "One of these days, Sol, someone is going to figure out how much you've milked out of that  'harmless old man' routine."

"By then, Joseph, I will be safely buried next to my Anna," the smaller Watcher replied placidly.  "But if I were to promise it would stay off the record, Aidan, could I ask a few questions?"  Sol studied her reactions very carefully from under bushy black eyebrows.  He and Joseph had talked until early into the morning about many things, and he knew that Aidan loathed being spied on.  The idea that his old friend Aidan had such a temper to lose had not surprised him; that she had come so close to loss of control last night, did.

Aidan continued to cut out the pinwheel cookies and place them on a cooking sheet while she thought about it.  Rachel stayed out of the discussion, both because this was between the female immortal and the two Watchers and because she didn't have the energy right now to defuse any possible disagreement.  Connor was nearby; she could go find him if there were serious problems.

After putting the latest batch in the oven, Aidan set the timer and turned around.  "Who wants more coffee?  And ask, Sol, but I reserve the right not to answer."

"Certainly, my dear, what do you take me for?"

Aidan smiled at that.  "A consummate con artist, Sol, to have fooled me and Connor so well and so long.  Ask."  She sat down, bringing her ice water with her.  After all the time over the oven, hot drinks held no appeal at all, but the view out the kitchen window did include at least some snow.  _Amazing how cooling something so purely visual can be,_ she mused absently.

"Why Connor, Aidan?  You showed up out of nowhere so far as he and I are concerned, and you were not hunting his head or his heart, my dear.  Why?"

A soft chuckle answered that.  "Oh, that.  Well, as usual, it was the fault of that Spanish peacock, Gods rest his soul.  I studied with Ramirez, Sol -- actually, I was his first student and broke him in for all the others down the years...."  A choked sound answered that from the next room and Aidan sweetly called, "Eavesdroppers never hear good things about themselves, brother; go back to work on something useful, like finding the wrapping paper."

Adam walked back in with the empty basket.  "Well, that worked nicely."

"Getting rid of them or stealing the pfeffernusse?"  Aidan asked in amusement.  "And if you steal so much as one more beer, you're making the run for more."

Sol said gently, "Adam, my friend, plan on getting more beer, but I would truly like to hear this."  Joe concealed his amusement carefully when the lanky immortal, looking not a bit abashed, settled onto a chair and fell silent nonetheless.  "But surely you didn't come looking for Connor simply because you both studied with Ramirez, Aidan?  Were you not a few centuries late if that was all?"

That got a laugh.  "Well, for one thing, Sol, Ramirez never wrote and told me about Connor or I'd have come to finish his training.  But from what my brother tells me, they were a little busy that year.  Then the Kurgan came.  I did eventually get word that the Kurgan had killed Ramirez, but I'd crossed swords with that outsized bastard before and barely kept my head.  So I put aside a case of alcohol for whoever avenged my old friend and teacher, and added to it once a century, waiting for word and hoping.  About two years after Connor finally killed the Kurgan, Darius sent me here with a letter of introduction.  The rest you know."

"I had thought you must have studied with Ramirez, because I knew full well Connor had no sisters.  But you were the Egyptian's first student?"  Sol was too polite to ask a lady's age, but the temptation was gnawing at him.  Joe grinned and reached out to take away Sol's coffee mug.

Aidan regarded him out of amused grey eyes.  "Courteous as ever, Sol.  Yes, old friend, I'm old.  Heading toward three thousand, unless you just want a precise number."

 Rachel stopped chopping walnuts, shocked to the bone.  Connor's immortality she accepted, and Duncan's, having seen both of them die and come back to life during World War II.  She had known that Ramirez was over two thousand when he trained Connor, but this young-looking woman who'd been trading obscene jokes with Adam and swatting Connor with a wooden spoon predated the holiday she was preparing the house for?  "No wonder you're not a Christian, Aidan.  Good heavens.  Did you actually see any of it?"

Aidan chuckled at the thought.  "What, the life and death of the Jewish carpenter?  No, I was nowhere near the area at the time, thank goodness.  Immortal law number one -- be inconspicuous.  Immortal law number one, variant A -- if you can't be inconspicuous, be very conspicuous as something you aren't."

"And if you can't be inconspicuous, be absent," Adam said sardonically.

"Oh, hush, you're too young to be so cynical," Aidan told him calmly.  She watched him choke on his beer while she handed Joe a bowl.  "Here, sweep the nut shells into this, would you, please?"  The Watcher took the bowl gladly, needing an excuse to hide the expression on his face.

"Besides, Rachel," Aidan continued, "quite honestly, until Constantine became a Christian on his deathbed in... 312, I think -- until then, Christians were mostly just another set of street corner zealots, preaching to anyone who wanted to listen.  Sorry, but you could listen to Stoics, Epicenes, Cynics, Zoroastrians, you name it.  Actually, watching the fights between them was a free day's entertainment."

Sol studied Adam thoughtfully.  It was very convenient indeed that a pre-immortal had been a Watcher and thus known who to contact for help when suddenly catapulted into the Game... but if that was young Pierson's story, who was he, Sol, to contradict it?  They were friends, not Watcher and subject.  But it would be interesting to see what, if anything, Adam dropped that contradicted his story.

"I thought Ramirez only trained one female student," Joe said thoughtfully.  "Well, one that the Watchers know about."

Aidan smiled and stood up to pull the pinwheels out of the oven.  "I only had one direct line-sister.  Ramirez trained me, and a good while later he trained Rihana of the Silences.  I wish you could have known her, Joe.  You two would have liked each other.  A thorough-going scamp she was."

"I heard she was a Welsh singer with an incredible voice."  Joe threw the comment in to keep his friend reminiscing.  Damn shame this couldn't go in someone's chronicles, but at least he could enjoy it.

"Yes. Only fair with a sword, despite Ramirez' best efforts, but quick with her tongue and she always knew when it was time to get out of town.  Rihana and I traveled together many a time."  Aidan shook her head as she sat back down, but she was smiling.  "It was madly ironic.  Here she was the minstrel, whom everyone always assumed were the disreputable folk, and I was the one who always got into fights.  Some immortal would announce his name, and bluster, and try to bully her.  So while she still had him talking, I'd walk up and challenge."  Aidan chuckled softly.  "I had a terrible reputation for a century.  It's a very good thing that I change my name on a regular basis."

Rachel laughed at the idea of Aidan being a scandal; the other woman always seemed so poised, even in jeans, an old button-down shirt of Connor's, and an apron which read 'Kiss the Cook.'  Sol meanwhile, scolded the immortal, saying, "You and Duncan!  Do you have to take every challenge that comes?  Really, Aidan."

"Well, no, but on the other hand, someone had to take the challenge, and I was a better fighter.  Can I help it if these idiots would come pick a fight without knowing who they opposed, and too arrogant to find out before they did give the challenge?"  Aidan shrugged, feeling old and tired for a moment.  "A lot of them were simply evil.  I didn't mind the ones who were just... enthusiastic, I usually let them live.  But the ones who would hunt down and kill pre-immortals, then take their heads when they came back, or go looking for fledgling immortals, or challenge at two, three, or four-to-one odds?  Them I killed.  Someone had to do it. "

"This Rihana, is she still in the Game, my dear?"  Sol asked the question gently, afraid it would hurt Aidan, but too curious to abandon the subject.  Rihana of the Silences had been the subject of a few letters back and forth between Sol and Erin, Joe's lady, the Watcher who handled special projects such as Darius' apparent precognition and the use of the Voice by immortals such as Cassandra and Rihana.

"I don't know.  She quit singing for a long while after Ramirez died, and then vanished in the 1650s.  That was bad century for me with friends,"  Aidan said quietly.  "We both loved that peacock dearly, and Rihana hurt so badly there were no words in her to express it.  For a long time she simply refused to talk at all."

"What happened that she started speaking again?"  Joe asked.

"A work she composed, Joe, not directly about Ramirez, but it let enough of the grief out that she could begin to work around it."

Adam glanced over in surprise.  "What was it, Aidan?  I saw some of Rihana's poems that her Watchers wrote down, but the records stop a good twenty years before she vanished.  And the Watchers last saw her in Spain in the 1780s."

Aidan blinked at that.  "Truly?  Maybe she is still out there.  I don't want to get my hopes up, somehow.  But no, Adam, she told it to me several nights running so that I wouldn't forget it, but she never wrote it down and she forbade me to.  Rihana wanted this one to stay off paper."

Joe nodded quietly.  "I've known a few blues players who said that writing a song down was a trap."

"Yes, that was part of it.  Some time I'll give you the entire piece, if you like, Joe, although in these days few would find it of interest.  It was a reworking of one of the stories of the Mabinogion where the witch Rhiannon was accused of slaying her own child.  The last stanza alone got me through the deaths of two husbands."  Aidan adjusted her position in the chair and drew a breath.  The altered cadence of her voice held them motionless as she spoke, the tone deeper and filled with an aching grief which came from pain upon heartbreak placed squarely upon the memory and hope of joy.

"Say it is not so, oh, Gods.  
"Speak it for me, for I have no words.  
"There is no joy now, and without joy what use are words?  
"Oh, listen well.  
"Even the birds hold silent...."

Silence fell after her words, stillness settling into place in the kitchen as Rihana's work fell away into the years again.  Sol reached for her hand and said firmly, "One night, you will recite for me the entire piece, yes?"

"Yes, Sol, if you like," Aidan answered, pulling herself out of the chair and going back to work at the sink, clearing away mess to start lunch and set breads to rising.  "Will you mind if I answer questions from over here?  I have baking to do."

"Oh, I have no questions that cannot wait, my dear, although I am greatly curious.  Connor might know, although I have not had a chance to ask him yet...."

Aidan smiled at him.  "What is it?"

Sol shrugged, giving her a mildly inquiring look.  "Who trained Ramirez?"

"It's not in your records?"  The startled surprise on her face told Sol she had thought the answer obvious.

"No, my dear, it isn't.  We have always wondered."

Aidan chuckled at that.  "Well, I suppose I could tell you who didn't do it....  It's a simple enough answer, Sol.  Ramirez was trained by Methos."

Sol sat there, coffee cup suspended in mid-air as he assessed that information, then the elderly Jew sighed in contentment.  "I had always wondered that and feared I would never know.  Thank you, my dear.  And because an old man should not get too many rich treats in one day, but also because I will admit to a mild curiosity, will you answer one last question today?  Mostly for an old man's satisfaction at knowing something headquarters does not."  That got inquiring looks from Joe and Adam both, and Aidan chuckled over by the oven.

"Ask away, Sol."

"By any chance, were you in Toronto in June?"  He had not expected the reaction that got.

Aidan stared at him, startled and pale, then drew a deep breath.  "Oh, you had Watchers on those two... women.  I hope?"

"Yes, we did.  Then that was you, my dear?  However did you defeat both of them at once?"  Sol studied her face carefully, intrigued by how much of her reactions she was allowing them to see.

"Skill on my part, carelessness on theirs.  They were convinced they were the only people who would break rules, so I taught them otherwise."  Aidan turned and walked to the table, using some of the nuts on the table to illustrate what had happened.  "One of them was here, where this walnut is.  The blonde was next to her, where the almond is, and I was facing them at the bar.  I threw coffee in the Asian girl's face; she doubled over, which blocked her partner's shot.  I dropped the Asian girl by breaking the coffee mug on the back of her head, and rolled here," and she repositioned the salt shaker.

Behind her, Adam nodded thoughtfully, an approving look on his face as she continued, "By the time I came up, I had my sword out.  I put a stiletto in the blonde's stomach, which doubled her over as well, and ran a sword through her back and out her chest."  Aidan shrugged and continued, "That one down, I put a knife in the Asian's neck and took them outside to take their heads."

"In the middle of a nightclub, my dear?  Did no one call the police?"  Sol was genuinely shocked.

Aidan chuckled quietly.  "Not in that nightclub. The owner is a... very old friend of mine, and more than a bit bloodthirsty."  She glanced at Joe and clarified, "The Raven is owned by LaCroix, Joe.  Janette's father?"

"Oh, my God.  No wonder the local Watchers won't go there late at night," Joe groaned.  He had met Janette in Paris.  She had left him in no doubt that vampires existed.

Sol said thoughtfully, "Is this something you can explain, my dear?"  Old stories from his childhood ran through his mind, and Sol Goldberg was wise enough to know that the immortals he knew might not be the only long-lived people in the world.  _Bloodthirsty?  From a woman so precise with her words?  Hmm, does that mean there are vampires?  What an interesting reality it is indeed, if they are real._

Aidan replied, "Lucien LaCroix will be at the party Saturday, Sol.  I'll introduce you to him then.  But will you trust me that is safer for you if I don't explain?  I... would rather spare you the knowledge, if you'll allow it."

"Of course, my dear.  I have trusted you for a long time, now.  This can wait.  So, what must still be done for the party, and what is Connor going to leave to the professionals?"  Sol shelved several questions he wanted to ask Aidan and Adam as well.  No sense in making either of them uncomfortable; there would be time this week, now that he no longer had to hide what he was doing from Connor.

* * * *

Joe groaned as he shifted, trying to get warm in the frigid air.  "Sol, how did we get talked into this?"

Sol smiled at him and held out part of his blanket.  "Here, Joseph."  When his younger friend sounded so pleased to find the wool already warm, the elder Watcher turned up the corner with the battery.  "A heated blanket my daughter-in-law gave me.  She worries that I have arthritis."

"Your son picked a good one, Sol," Joe replied.  He laughed and pointed toward the ice.  "Looks like Adam's losing the fight, doesn't it?"

"Aidan decided he was going to skate with her.  He should have known he would not win the argument," Sol agreed placidly.  "I see Connor can still skate backwards."

On the ice, Duncan sped past Connor and dropped a handful of snow on his cousin's head.  Aidan glanced up at the outraged cry and giggled to see the older Highlander tearing off after his kinsman.  Turning back to Methos she said cheerfully, "Come on, Magister, at least once around the ice.  You promised."

"I was in a weakened condition," he groused.  "It's ice, Aidan.  It's cold, it's hard, it's uncomfortable.  This is ridiculous.  I could be in Bora Bora, but no, I'm here in the freezing air.  You want me to add insult to injury by landing on my bum on frozen water?"

"Don't be such a wuss.  Or have you just forgotten how to skate?"  She twisted hastily to face Duncan as he came around the ice again and glared at him and Connor both.  "Oh, no, you two.  You are not putting snow down my sweater.  These are wool pants; they'll stay damp all night.  Don't even think it."

Duncan grinned evilly at both of them.  "No, I was thinking about chasing him out onto the ice.  Ice or snow, old man?"

"Oh, no, Highlander.  I don't think so."  From behind his back, Methos whipped out a snowball and pegged his male lover squarely in the face with it, then took off at high speed himself.  Aidan promptly set out after her teacher, laughing and insulting him.  Connor considered his cousin's face, Aidan's retreating form, and left before the younger Scot decided to use the snowball still in one gloved hand.

Duncan wiped his face off with the other hand, surprised and laughing, then skated off after the other three.  By the time he caught up to them, Aidan was darting around trying to get to Methos.  The oldest immortal had submerged himself into a stream of teen-agers and was making Aidan run an obstacle course of children to get to him, calling with obnoxious cheerfulness, "I never said I couldn't skate, I said it was too cold to be out here."

Sol smiled at Joe.  "Such a pleasure to see the MacLeods quit being so solemn, hmm?  I think my great-grandchildren are more restrained."

Joe drew a deep breath against the laughter still spilling from his chest.  "God, Sol, the look on Duncan's face.  I wish I'd had my camera!"  He waved a hand at the scene on the ice, where Duncan and Connor had each grabbed one of Aidan's arms and were towing her into the center of the ice.  "Those four!  This is worth getting cold, just to see them all get so silly."

"It is, isn't it?  Too prone to serious moods, those three are.  I am never sure what young Adam is thinking, but then I have known for years that he had a subtle, intricate mind.  Do you suppose he knows what he is thinking, some days?" Sol asked with great interest.

Joe nearly choked on his coffee at that question, then gasped, "Think?  Adam?"  The bearded Watcher pointed to where the three Celts had encircled the immortal in question.  "If he'd been thinking, he'd have never pushed Aidan and Duncan into a mutual defense league, Sol!"

About that point, Methos decided he'd had enough of being trapped, even if two of his captors were lovers of his.  There was one simple way to get free, so he took it.  The shell-shocked expression on Connor's face and the frozen immobility of his body (which landed him on his back on the ice when Methos shoved unexpectedly) were memories to treasure, brought about by the simplest of attacks:  a kiss.  Aidan paused long enough to help Connor off the ice while Duncan chased after Methos, calling after his lover in Gaelic.

"You hussy!  Next I'll be having to defend my kinsman's honor, if I can remember where he abandoned it!  Or was that abandoned her?  Ye didna even do the job properly, y'realize, he managed t' stand back up!  Have ye no pride, man?  Ye canna even guarantee the quality of the work?  What kind of warrior lets the man get back up again, I'll ask ye?"  From the shaking shoulders and the way he was gaining ground, Duncan suspected Methos was laughing himself half sick over the insults or the deliberately back-country accent Duncan was using.  Either one was fine with Duncan, so long as it slowed Methos down.

The older immortal called back over his shoulder, "What warrior, MacLeod, I'm just a guy.  And if you think I'm letting you near me with a snowball again, you're as crazed as your sheep!"

"No, no, Adam, yew're memory's slippin' again.  It's mad cows, noh crazed sheep," Duncan retorted. The younger Highlander chuckled and said, "And I'm noh the one yew should be worried aboot."

Aidan sped past him and wrapped her arms around Methos' waist; she dropped the snow down the back of Methos' jeans and took off again, racing in the opposite direction from him and promptly ducking among the same high school students who had been such helpful concealment for him before.  Connor and Duncan stopped and stared at Methos as he cursed in several highly obscene sounding phrases, although nothing either of them could translate, thank God.  Then the oldest immortal stood upright, dusting off first his jeans and then his hands with a deliberate precision that made Duncan back cautiously away.

Connor eyed his kinsman warily, then followed his lead.  "Isn't it your job to warm his ass, Duncan?" came his _sotto voce_ question, still in Gaelic.

Before Duncan could offer any of the comebacks which sprang to mind, he heard Methos say the words he'd been dreading.  In a gloriously resonant imitation of Foghorn Leghorn's unmistakable voice, Methos announced in English, "Of course you realize, this means war."

Sol had been watching this with great interest, only to have his attention diverted.  Aidan skidded off the ice, running straight toward them with the awkward gait ice shoes always impose on land.  "Joe, quickly, I need your hat!  Here, Sol, hold this for me, please, you two must be getting cold."  She threw her own green knit cap to Joe, grabbing hastily at the jaunty red Santa's hat he'd been wearing.  Her hands stuffed her braid swiftly into the felt top, and she tossed her heavy wool coat to Joe.  Now instead of a royal blue coat and green hat, Aidan wore nothing but black and red:  black wool pants, thick red sweater, and red and white Santa hat.  "Thank you!"

The whole exchange had taken perhaps half a minute and Joe pulled her coat around Sol's shoulders.  "Well, it won't fit me, old friend.  What in hell is she up to?"

Sol watched her blend into the Christmas crowd, a good third of whom wore various holiday items, and smiled in delight.  "Camouflage I think it is called, Joseph.  This should be very entertaining."

On the ice, Connor had gone one way and Duncan the other, both of them dodging Methos among the other skaters, several of whom had seen some of the snow fight.  The children were gleefully hiding the Scots, although several were calling out to Methos, pointing out his victims.  The older skaters, however, were clearing paths for all of the parties involved because most of the adults didn't want to catch a badly aimed snowball in the back of the head.

Duncan had just ducked another barrage, thrown by some eight years olds that time, when he saw a black and red blur go past Methos, clapping a handful of snow to the back of his head in passing.  As she accelerated away Aidan called something in a language Duncan had never heard before.

Methos spun in surprise, only to find Connor standing in front of him, both hands full of snow -- which promptly reappeared on Methos' face.  Only the prominent nose stood out for a second, and the elder Scot hastily ducked back into the skaters, calling over his shoulder, "Aidan, isn't it time we were all going?"

The younger Scot took pity on his lover and skated over to help Methos clean off his face.  When his hands came into contact with Methos' skin, their link surged into full force for a moment.  The emotions pouring off his lover surprised Duncan:  laughter, a complete relaxation into the frivolity, and a finely honed sense of revenge plotting against Aidan.  One eyebrow raised, Duncan asked in great interest, "What did she say, anyway?"

Methos glared across the rink at their lover and growled, "It was Assyrian.  Do you know that treacherous Irish chit had the nerve to say I'm getting too old for this?!"

Mouth twitching with restrained humor, Duncan asked, "Did you want to get even or disprove it?"

Lechery poured across the link and Methos suddenly laughed, unable to keep up the pretense of a bad mood.  "Oh, get even of course.  But who said they're two different things, Duncan?"  He wrapped an arm around his lover's waist, noting the purring contentment from the Scot.  Methos didn't understand why his lover reacted so strongly to his own name, but he had no intention of wasting the result.  Leaning into him, Methos whispered, "My mouth's cold," and kissed him.

Duncan chuckled into the kiss, running his tongue across the other man's lips and briefly inside his mouth before pulling back.  "For now you'll have to settle for me buying you coffee.  I'll warm you properly later."  He tugged gently at Methos, heading for the side of the rink.  "Come on, let's see if those two want to skate some more or if they're ready to get dinner yet?"

Methos checked his watch regretfully.  "Oh, probably dinner.  The play starts in a couple hours."  He wrapped his arm around Duncan's waist, feeling them fall easily into rhythm with each other's movement.   "How did we let Aidan talk us into going to see A Christmas Carol?  This is almost a cliché, Mac."

"Because we were so surprised she wanted to go that we said yes," Duncan answered.  The younger man grinned and continued, "Besides, I like it, too.  And it's more fun on stage than on TV."

* * * *

Connor passed Aidan another glass of Scotch and chuckled when she muttered something obscene in Gaelic, then continued, "How did I let you talk me into this?"

"I kept handing you Scotch," the older Highlander said evenly.  "Remember?"

"As I'm remembering it, there was the time we were after being so drunk we fell into the taxi-cab, too," the Irishwoman growled.  "I can't wrap presents if you get me sloshed, Connor, m'lad, I'll tape the both of us in with the package."

Methos shook his head and took the glass away from her.  "Piece of advice, Highlander.  When she starts lilting the phrasing?  She's drunk."

"I'm no such thing, I'll be having you know."

Duncan laughed at that.  "Sure you aren't.  Do you want some bread to soak up the whiskey?"

"Do I look such a wuss?"

The three men considered her seriously.  Sitting on the floor, a pillow at her back and a small mountain of wrapped presents on her right, unwrapped presents tagged with the name of the recipient on the left, tape, glue, rolls of paper, bows, tinsel and ribbon in the middle... she looked like a cat in the middle of a feline Mecca.  It didn't hurt that curls of cut ribbon, sprinklings of multi-color glitter, and bits of bright paper were scattered around and over her, including the streak of green and silver along one cheek where she'd wiped a wisp of hair out of the way.  Grey eyes sparkled above flushed cheeks, and her hands never settled anywhere for long.  And at some point, when she wasn't looking, Connor had stuck a bright red bow on the end of her braid.  As of yet, she hadn't noticed it.

Duncan grinned and took advantage of his youth, figuring he could count on Connor or the whiskey to slow her down a little.  "No, _acushla_.  You look drunk."

"Just for that, I'll not be wrapping a one of your packages," she got out.

"That might be because they're already done," he said cheerfully, eyeing her from top to bottom.  The snug tank-top and jeans she'd stripped down to earlier, when the alcohol began to really hit, didn't hide much.  "And it's more fun when you unwrap my presents for me."

Connor chuckled and said, "Duncan, we need to talk.  Didn't I tell you to never take advantage when they're drunk?"

"Why not?" Methos asked bluntly.

"Because," the older MacLeod answered, "when you do that, you end up with a hung-over, pissed off woman in your bed.  And you'd better hope you wake up first or quickly."  He grinned at Methos and told Duncan, "Go find her some food, Duncan, or we'll never get all the wrapping done."

* * * *

Connor settled more comfortably into his chair and watched Methos rummage through his CD and video collection.  _Duncan's tucking Aidan into bed to sleep off the whiskey and Rachel's taking a nap herself.  I'll not get a better chance._

"So what is a five thousand year old man doing with a four centuries old pup?  Aidan, I can understand."

Methos didn't bother turning around.  "I wondered when you'd ask.  You waited longer than I expected."  The nonchalant tone told Connor that the topic didn't bother him.  "Do you really need to ask the question, though?"

"You could be after his head," Connor said calmly.

"He could be after mine," came the flat reply.

"Duncan take a lover's head?"  The older Highlander paused, shaking his head.  "Fair enough, although I think we both know better.  Do you love him?"

"He's a little old for you to be prying into his affairs.  Did you ask Tessa that?"

"A blind man could have seen that Tessa loved him," Connor chuckled.  "She never could hide how she felt about anything.  You, on the other hand...."  He shrugged, light-gold eyes dancing at the battle of wits.

"What, MacLeod, no faith in your clansman's training?"

"Which part of it?  It's not his handling of the steel sword that I'm worried about."

Methos sighed inwardly and turned partway around.  "He's old enough to take care of himself, I think."

"You twist questions like that Spanish peacock used to.  Yes or no?  It's a simple question, Methos.  You'd think that after five thousand years, you'd have heard it once or twice before."

"You're as stubborn as he is," Methos snapped.  "Does it just run in the family?"

"We drank it with our mothers' milk.  Trace elements from the Highland rocks, I think.  Do you love him?  Yes or no?"

"Yes, I love him!  Are you satisfied?'

Connor shrugged.   "Yes.  The last time you sounded this annoyed was when Kastagir skipped out without paying you his bar tab.  Whiskey?"

"Pig-headed Scot.  Give me the bloody bottle if you're going to keep this up."

The older Highlander chuckled as he stood and walked to the bar.  "A glass, right.  And Methos?  Flattery will get you nowhere.  You're out of room in the bed."

* * * *

Aidan sighed with pleasure and studied her breath as it silvered the air in front of her.  The last notes from the carolers faded away and silence descended for a moment before the applause started again.  She felt an immortal nearby and glanced around, then nodded and waved to Marcus Constantine.  The Roman walked across the park to where she stood listening, well back from the crowd.

"You're looking well, Aidan.  Better than you did in London."

"I've gotten sleep," she pointed out acerbically, but pressed up on tiptoe to kiss him on each cheek.  "How are you, Marcus?"

"I'm fine, old friend.  You're here for Connor's party?"

"At the moment I'm playing hooky from some errands I should be running," came the mild reply. "But I did say I'd be there."

"So you did.  Tell me.  Is it simply a prime opportunity for spying, or does he have some other pragmatic reason?"

"You remember Sunda Kastagir, don't you?"

The Roman paused at that.  He remembered the large, dark immortal very well indeed.  "Who could ever forget 'boom-boom'?"  Constantine laughed.  "Do you remember the time he actually got Ceirdwyn drunk?"

"Separating the women from the children?"  Aidan laughed, too.  "Of course I do.  She forgave him eventually."

"Mostly," Marcus answered through his chuckles.  "What about him, though?"

"The last time Connor saw him, before the Kurgan took him out of the Game, Sunda said that if the Gathering was getting close, there was only one solution.  Time to throw a party.  So Connor does."

 The two of them walked side by side out of the park, studying Christmas decorations displayed on the streetlights, the front windows of stores, the very billboards and video screens around.  Switching to Latin, Aidan asked softly, "Did you ever think they'd come to this, those early zealots?"

"No, I didn't.  Of course, I never thought we'd see Mother Isis dethroned, either," he replied in the same tongue.  "Not after She managed to acquire such a following in the Empire.  I thought if She could survive us, She'd survive anything."

"She's still worshipped," Aidan pointed out.  "Under different names, quite often, but the Goddess still receives some of Her due."

"Times change, old friend.  Have you considered changing with them?"

She laughed at that, a joyous sound.  "Not on that, old friend.  On some other things?  Certainly."

"Did you finally renounce that vow?" he asked in interest, considering the light in her eyes and the pleased smile which had been hovering around the edges of her mouth.  "Darius always said you would eventually."

"Am I just wearing a placard?" Aidan growled, irritated now.  "And he said what?"

"You do look rather... incandescent.  The older Highlander?  Or the younger?  Or both?"

Aidan turned to look at him, stopping in surprise.  "What odd branch of logic produced those options?"

"You did say you were in Paris to visit Duncan," he pointed out.  "And you're here in New York for Connor's party.  Which one is it?"

"Come to the party and see," she chuckled.  "I promise, I'll introduce you properly there."

"I'll hold you to it, then.  Come along, there's a very good deli just down the street and I've not had lunch yet.  Now, about that book of translations you did...."

* * * *

Duncan stretched under the comforter and smiled without ever opening his eyes.  For a man who acted so aloof out of bed, it was amazing how much Methos cuddled in bed.  It was almost like having an extra blanket.  The oldest immortal had draped himself over the Scot's chest and leg, head buried against Duncan's neck.  What was decidedly unfair was the long-fingered hand teasing his ear; the man wasn't even awake yet!

Now completely coherent, Duncan decided that turnabout was only fair, and wrapped his own arm up over Methos' back, running fingernails lightly along the spine and down toward his lover's ass.  Methos groaned against his throat and tilted his head to nuzzle the warm skin there as Duncan's hand wandered farther down, stroking just under the curve of a buttock.  That caress drew a gasp and a sleepy-sounding, "Mac?"

"Yes?" the Scot muttered, still teasing with fingertips and nails of one hand while his other hand rubbed at the older man's shoulder and neck.

"Are you trying to take advantage of me in my incoherent condition?"  Methos sounded sleepy but content.

"If you can manage to say that, you're not...."  The Scot trailed off as an all-too-skilled mouth bit and then licked his throat, teasing across extremely sensitive spots with the ease of familiarity.

"What?" his lover asked, pressing up onto one elbow to look down at the sultry brown eyes.  "Claiming you've never taken advantage of me?"

"When?!  Name once!" came the indignant reply, but Duncan didn't try to move out from under the strong hand pinning his shoulder and the leg trapping his own.

"Was that some other man who plied me with wine and good food and made a pass at me when I was intoxicated?" Methos murmured, hazel eyes dancing.

"You were not drunk!"

"I said intoxicated, MacLeod.  Your voice and eyes should be registered as lethal weapons, did no one tell you?  Then you admit it was you?"

"I'll admit I told you I love you over dinner."

"Wine, good food, intoxicated... sounds like what I said.  Thoroughly dishonorable, Highlander, taking advantage of me in a weakened condition.  So what will you forfeit in apology?"

Duncan gasped as Methos' hand trailed down his side to tease along the crease of skin between thigh and hip.  The unconcealed strength in his lover's face was as intoxicating to the Scot as anything Methos might claim  he had done.  The Scot gave himself up to that power and force of character gladly.  It was a rare thing for the chieftain's son to have someone he could lean on, and this was supposed to be his vacation, too, after all....

Methos saw the decision flicker across the expressive eyes and mouth of his Scottish lover and smiled, an almost predatory expression which relaxed Duncan even more completely under his hands.

"What did you want for an apology?" Mac purred, giving over what control he might have had.

The oldest immortal leaned in and nipped at one full lip, then traced the mark with his tongue.  "I'm sure I'll think of something, Highlander."

~ ~ ~

In the kitchen downstairs, Aidan poured herself another mug of coffee, and watched the oven intently.

"I'd like the biscuits to be ready sometime this morning, Aidan," Connor said bluntly.  "Come sit down, they won't brown any faster for you glaring at them."

"I'm hungry," she sighed, but sat down at the table, resolutely turning her back on the oven.

Rachel smiled at her over the coffee mug and pushed the bowl of fruit to her.  "Well, then eat.  Should I ask what you were doing last night to work up such an appetite?  I heard you all come back down from sparring around ten."

"Yes, and then I stayed up on the phone with some friends who are coming in from Toronto for the party.  Connor, did I warn you about--"  Her voice trailed off as she felt another immortal come into range.

Connor's head came up a moment later and he set down his coffee cup, reaching for the sword.  "Who?"

Aidan said softly, "Female, old.  Might be--"

Amanda's voice caroled cheerfully through the hall.  "Hello?  Anyone awake?  I smell coffee."

Ramirez' two students, the oldest and the youngest, exchanged identical exasperated, affectionate glances then Connor called, "In the kitchen, Amanda.  Surely Rebecca taught you to knock?"

"Connor, it took a battering ram to 'knock' on a four-inch thick door," the immortal thief protested indignantly as she walked into the kitchen.  She bent down and kissed Connor, stole his coffee mug and drained it, handed it back, and turned to hug Aidan.  She dodged Connor's hand trying to swat her pert derriere still encased in a clinging skirt and, that done, snagged the apple off her female friend's plate.  Next Amanda turned to Rachel.

"For someone who was supposed to be on the verge of hospitalization, Rachel, the rumors were greatly exaggerated.  You look lovely, as ever."  Amanda kissed the air just over the mortal's cheeks and chuckled when Rachel brushed her away lightly with a fingertip swipe that just missed.

"For someone who gave up her career as a thief," Rachel returned tartly, "you're still awfully free with locked doors, Amanda.  How are you?" she asked out of politeness.  "The hair is a new look for you."

"Tired," Amanda said mournfully, playing up her best 'lost waif' expression to garner some pity from Connor's assistant who had never quite trusted her.  "I was in Australia twenty-four hours ago.  And I've been trying out this new look.  Doesn't need hair dryers," and she ran a hand through short-cut platinum blond strands.

"Absolutely dreadful," Aidan said blandly.  "To go through so many time-zones so quickly, Amanda....  You must be missing the days when it was a two month trip by ship to California.  The odd thing is that it suits you.  Have you considered blue?  I don't think I've seen it that color yet."

"Wretch," Amanda laughed.  "Oh, all right, I'm jet-lagged and grouchy, I'll admit.  Do you know the man next to me spent the entire time typing on his laptop?"

"What?" Connor sympathized, "instead of talking to you?  Maybe he was a priest.  What about green?"

"Or smart," Rachel muttered softly.  "I'll check on the biscuits, Aidan," she said more loudly as Connor winked at her.

"Connor, your fashion sense is abominable.  It's obvious Rachel tells you where to shop.  And where's Duncan, anyway, speaking of the well-dressed?" Amanda asked, looking around.  She glanced at Aidan, mischief dancing in dark brown eyes. "By the way, Aidan, did you ever trip him or not?  You were certainly taking your own sweet time about it!"

Connor sputtered into his coffee and Aidan laughed out loud at the blunt question.  "No, Amanda, I waited for the Pope to sanction the union.  Of course I dragged him into bed, dear, as soon as I thought he'd be sure I wanted him and not just any warm body."

"Well, one with the appropriate attachments," Amanda murmured wickedly to make Connor choke on his coffee again.

The older Scot laughed at that, and turned to Aidan, eyebrows raised, face and eyes lit up with merriment.  "Oh, the appropriate attachments are very important, don't you think he'd agree?"

Aidan crowed and Rachel hid a grin behind one hand, grateful she had her back to the others.  She paid careful attention to getting the biscuits off the tray as a rationale for keeping her face turned away from the lady thief.

Amanda, however, went on indignantly, "When was this?"

"Oh, a  couple months and some ago," Aidan said absently, trying to get her laughter under control.  "A few weeks after Lammas."

"I do remember Lammas, Aidan, I'm not that young," the thief griped.  "How dare he!  That rat!"

Connor glanced up.  "I thought you gave this your blessing, Amanda.  Going back on it?"

"Of course not!  But you'd think one of them would have called and told me things had worked out.  It's only fair," she flounced, lower lip pouting.  "I mean, why should I be the last to know?"

Aidan moved to the counter to pour the thief some coffee, as much to protect her own and Connor's mugs as from courtesy.  "You aren't, Amanda.  There are half a hundred friends who don't know, including Marcus Constantine who was a friend of mine a thousand years before you died the first time."

"And Duncan and I have been friends for three hundred years.  How dare he not tell me!  I'll just have words with him!"  Amanda was up and moving away from the table before Connor could stop her.

The older MacLeod called, "Amanda, wait!" as he struggled to get around the table and catch the impetuous woman.  Aidan juggled the coffee mug she'd half-filled and the pot she'd been pouring from, trying to get her hands free.  Rachel looked up from the platter of biscuits, hearing something in Connor's voice.  Then her mind turned to what might be going on that Duncan wasn't downstairs yet and she hastily set down the plate.

Amanda made it down the hallway and up one flight of stairs before Connor could get to the hallway.  "No, the rat definitely deserves to be rudely awakened," she complained to herself as she headed straight for the room the two of them had always used when they stopped over in New York.  "He could have at least told me!"

Duncan's presence felt stronger than usual, but he'd probably just taken a head lately.  "He gets into more fights than any other immortal I know."  Behind her, she heard Connor and Aidan saying something about 'Wait!' but her clicking high heels never slowed.  "No, he definitely deserves this."

Amanda swung the door open, saying, "Duncan MacLeod, you--"  and about then her voice quit working, as did the rest of her body.

Methos turned his head far enough to say coldly, "Amanda, go away."  His arms were braced over Mac's shoulders, and even under the sheet concealing them from the waist down, it was obvious his body covered the younger man's.  Duncan's face was half-concealed in the crook of his arm where he knelt under Methos, head down and dark brown hair pouring across his cheek.  The immortal thief knew that flushed, languorous look.  Part of her mind softly commented, _One or two minutes from coming.  If that long._

She froze, taking in the heightened color in Methos' face and the way he was biting at his lower lip for control, seeing the half-open mouth and distracted expression on Mac's face, and all she could think was, _Oh, my!  When did this happen?_

Aidan reached around her paralyzed friend and closed the door, saying apologetically, "Sorry, loves, she got ahead of me."  The door shut firmly against the frame as Connor caught Amanda by the shoulder and waist, tugging her unresisting form down the hall.

"When are you going to learn to knock?" he asked in amusement.  It was such a rare occasion to catch Amanda so completely off-guard that he'd decided to make the most of it.  Rachel looked up as they escorted the shorter-haired woman back in and rolled her eyes in dismay, reading the story off their faces.

Amanda sat down and absentmindedly stole Aidan's coffee.  The other immortal woman snapped, "Amanda!  Quit that!  And what were you thinking, barging in on him like that?  You're lucky he didn't pull a sword on you."

"Well, it's not like Duncan would have anything on him I haven't already seen!"

"Oh, I don't know," Connor chuckled, bringing the biscuits.  "I doubt you've seen anything quite like that on him before.  Orange marmalade or grape jelly?"

Rachel flushed at the too-graphic explanation. _Duncan was... and Adam....  Oh._ Without a word, she pulled the ham out of the oven where she had been keeping it warm for the rest of them and set it on the table.

Amanda said distractedly, "I don't suppose you have some honey.  One of you could have told me!"

"Not ours to tell," Aidan pointed out calmly.  "Pass the ham, please, Rachel, since I doubt you're eating it, dear."

"But, Duncan and..." Amanda paused, changed words, and continued, "another man?  Mr. Heterosexual himself?  Good Lord, Aidan, when did this start?"

Aidan cocked her head, a sardonic gleam in grey eyes, and passed the ham to her.  "Silly question.  The correct question is, was there ever a chance it wouldn't eventually happen?  From what Joe says, they've been in love since they met each other.  Dhonnchaidh was just exhibiting the thick head most Celts have."

Connor snorted at that.  "Speak for yourself, woman."

"I'm speaking for you, too, brother," Aidan answered implacably.  "You could give lessons to a mule."

"I'm not the one who swore off immortals for two and a half thousand years," he pointed out in a mocking tone of voice.

Rachel concealed a chuckle with a patently fake cough and pointed out the correct cabinet with the honey to Amanda, who went on in the same startled, distracted voice, "Yes, but Duncan was on the bottom?!"

Connor's assistant groaned, "I did not need to hear that.  Connor, I'm going to go find something to do downstairs!"  She took her plate and hastily decamped before the thief could tell her anything else that was none of her business.

Aidan chuckled and said, "Methos can be insistent.  And Duncan undoubtedly started it."

Amanda's eyes widened at the name, but when she saw Connor didn't look surprised, she sighed and said, "Well, he certainly enjoys it when you can talk him into being tied down.  So I suppose I can see it.  But with another man?  I mean, Duncan's such a Boy Scout!"

Connor set his coffee out of the way before the two women could make him choke anymore on his caffeine.  "Amanda, entertaining as this conversation is, could you save it for someone who might want to go to bed with my kinsman?  I certainly don't."

Aidan asked in a thoughtful tone, "Incest taboos, Connor?  Haven't you gotten over those by now?"

"It's too early in the morning to be drinking, you two.  Behave.  Amanda, if you'd learn to knock, this wouldn't have happened.  Live with it.  Aidan, quit distracting me from breakfast, and leave some food for them so I don't have to listen to complaints about my hospitality all day."

"Your hospitality is fine, Connor, but I may actually start locking the bedroom door," Methos said grimly from the hallway.  "Amanda, what are you using for manners these days and can you return them to whatever cut-rate store you stole them from?"

"It was not cut-ra -- "  She turned and saw the annoyance glittering in gold-green eyes.  "Umm....  I didn't know anyone was in there with him, Methos.  I was just going to--"

"What?" Methos inquired pleasantly.  "I have to hear this one.  Good morning, Edana."

Aidan stood up and kissed him, a friendly buss that he turned into something more intense before letting go of her arm.  In Gaelic, she murmured, "I thought you already got that this morning."

Connor laughed when Methos replied in English, "Not from you, I haven't.  Are there more biscuits?  I think Mac's hungry."

Aidan gave up, sat down, and laughed until tears rolled down her face.  The look on Amanda's face had been priceless, and the teaspoon frozen motionless over the jar as the honey dripped back off....  The Irish woman only quit laughing when Methos kissed her again, demanding her attention with his mouth.

Duncan came in and hugged Amanda from behind, reaching out to put the spoon back on her plate.  He kissed her on one cheek saying, "Good morning, Amanda."  Still with both arms around her, he murmured in her ear, "Your timing needs work," and had the pleasure of watching her blush.

Connor looked at the shell-shocked thief, his sister who was still chuckling, and his hungry kinsman and his lover.  "Sit down, you two.  Not in my kitchen, hmm?  We already chased Rachel out."  He filled and passed plates, musing that at least things weren't boring with those three visiting.

"Now then, Amanda," Methos repeated.  "This ought to be an entertaining start to the morning.  Just what were you doing barging in on us?"

Aidan laughed and said, "Other than seeing more than you counted on."

"Umm."  Amanda hastily turned up the wattage on her best 'innocent and misunderstood' expression and began to try to get herself back out of this one.

* * * *

Joe swung the door open with a flourish, chuckling to himself at the idea of a Watcher being given keys to an immortal's house by said immortal.  _Jesus, wouldn't the Tribunal have a fit_ , he grinned.

Rich strode past him, a cocky smile on his face and called grandly, "Thank you, Jeeves, that'll be all for the night."

"Damn well better be, Junior, it's almost one in the morning," Joe replied, holding the door for Mac, too.  "How many bags did you bring anyway?"

"Hey, two bags for a week and a half isn't bad, Joe."

Duncan shook his head.  "So whose bag am I carrying, Rich?  Since you've got two?"

"Aidan asked me to bring some stuff from her house.  I had to excavate the upstairs storage to find the trunk she wanted, too.  Swear to God, I kept looking for something to have a sticker from the Titanic, y'know?"

Joe rolled his eyes.  "Tell me you didn't go to that, Rich.  Besides, the boat sank, remember? Before it reached harbor?"

"Well, Melissa wanted to go drool over DiCaprio, and I was hoping it would put her in a good mood.  I kinda ran late for a date the week before."

"Put her in the right mood, you mean, Ryan?"

"Hey, Mac's always telling me to study history.  So I went to a historical flick, what can I say?"  He shrugged:  not quite his usual hand gestures of innocence, but the best the young immortal could do with two suitcases.

Duncan sighed and pointed out, "Rich, it's based on history, yeah, but it's not exactly what I'd call a historical movie.  The two protagonists are not historic figures, although I'll grant you that almost the entire supporting cast was."

Rich shrugged as they walked into the elevator.  "I can never remember which station is PBS, what can I say?"

Duncan was still shaking his head as the doors opened on Connor's living room and Joe put a consoling hand on his shoulder.  "MacLeod, you did your best with the kid, I'm a witness.  Sooner or later...."

Aidan looked up from her canasta game and said cheerfully, "What, Joe, 'one of these days, pow, right in the kisser?'  Or are we discussing cartoons yet?"

"I thought that was the Honeymooners," Rachel said pleasantly, laying down another nine to complete a canasta.  "Hello, Richard, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Rich hastily put his bags down and went over to meet Connor's assistant.  "Ms. Ellenstein, Connor and Duncan forgot to warn me you were so lovely."  He kissed her hand while Duncan grinned at the idea that his student had picked up at least a few social graces.

"They didn't tell me you were so charming, either," Rachel replied, a smile hovering on her lips.  "It is a pleasure, though.  How was your flight?"

"It was fine, I spent the entire trip to Chicago sleeping."

"What, Rich, no one on board to flirt with?" Methos asked in interest, glancing up from his chess game.

"Oh, sure, but her Neanderthal boyfriend was with her.  You know, one of those guys so big you just know that in a horror movie he's gonna be the first one dead to establish the monster's credentials?"

Aidan broke into giggles, spluttering, "Oh, Gods, can you see writing a job résumé for Freddie Kreuger?"

Connor was laughing too, and pointed out, "Or the financials and insurance for Norman Bates?"

Rachel, however, asked "So how was the flight in from Chicago, then?"

"Well, let's just say there's a young lady I need to call Monday and leave it at that."

Connor looked at Aidan and said pleasantly, "I knew there was a reason I refused to take that bet, sister."  _Good to see the changes in Richie, too.  He's come a long way since Tessa's death, and even farther from our first meeting.  Duncan's been good for him._ He moved his queen to threaten Methos' rook and then stood up.

"Couldn't possibly be that famous Scottish frugality?" she asked, studying her hand and debating whether or not to take the card off the discard pile.  She decided against it, drew, muttered, and discarded.

"It might just be that you're almost as tricky as that Spanish peacock was.  Come on, Rich, I'll show you where your room is."

"I'll take care of that, Connor, I was just about to go to bed myself.  Canasta, Aidan," Rachel said pleasantly and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction at Aidan's Yiddish curses.  The immortal woman was using that language specifically so that Rachel would know how she felt about the outcome of the game.  All it did, though, was remind the Jewish woman of winter evenings before her parents died, with the family amusing themselves in the parlor while her mother worked her way through the clothes in the mending basket.

Aidan wound down to muttering as she worked up the scores for that hand for each of them.  "Pick this back up tomorrow, Rachel?"

"Certainly.  Rich, this way to your room."

Behind her, Joe waved a goodnight to the room and tossed the house keys back to Connor.  "Here you go, Connor.  Sorry, folks, but I need to head back before Sol starts to worry."

"See you in the morning then, Dawson.  Rich, do you have the bags?"

Duncan studied the chess board and mentioned, "Your knight's about to be run over, kinsman.  I'll help him with it.  Be right back."

Aidan raised an eyebrow at Duncan, amused at his worried expression.  In Gaelic, she called, "Have you told him yet or not?"

"I'm working on it," came the reply, also in Gaelic.  "If he'll ever be quiet for half a second to let me get a word in!"

Connor grinned at both of them, joining the conversation.  "Tell him what, kinsman?  Oh, the sleeping arrangements?  Or do you three actually sleep?"

Rich glanced back and forth between the three immortals discussing something in a language full of consonants.  Mac looked flustered; Aidan was smiling; and Connor looked too smug for words.  "Okay, what's the joke?  And who's it on?"

Methos propped his chin on his hands and said pleasantly, "You, actually.  Drop your bags in your room, Ryan; I'll have a sedative ready by the time you get back down."

"Adam!"  Duncan's scandalized voice did no good all.

Rachel sighed and said, "Come along, Richard.  Whatever this is, I rather think it's another thing I don't want to know.  Amanda's given me enough shocks today."

"Amanda could scandalize the statues in a cathedral," Rich agreed whole-heartedly.  "All right, Adam, grab me a beer or something, would you?"

When the elevator doors closed behind them, Joe sighed and said, "Try not to upset him too much, all right?  He still considers Mac a father-figure."

Methos moved to the bar to fix a stiff screwdriver for Rich.  "Of course not, Joe.  Go get some sleep.  It's late."

Joe sighed and looked at Connor, pointing to Methos with his cane.  "Try to keep him from getting too far out of hand, willya?  The old man's got Aidan and Mac wrapped around his -- "

"Please, Joe, don't finish that," Aidan said quickly.  "We know what you mean.  I'll make sure they don't run with scissors, all right?"

Connor chuckled.  "Don't worry about it, Dawson.  The truce goes into effect at dawn tomorrow, I'll simply move that up a little in here.  Not a problem."

Joe asked curiously, "Has anyone ever been stupid enough to break that truce?"

"Only the first year," was the cold reply.  "I took care of it."

 _Yeah, now I believe he took out the Kurgan.  Damn that's a cold-blooded sonuvagun when he wants to be.  Surprised more of that didn't wear off on Mac.  Wonder if anyone's tried to systematically catalogue the influences of teachers on their students?  I should mention that to Erin, she'll get someone to look into it_ , Joe mused to himself as he looked at the remorseless, near-colorless eyes of Duncan's teacher and clansman.

Out loud, though, he asked, "Do I need to stay and play referee?"

"We've got it, Joe," Aidan reassured him as she put up the card decks.  "I'll walk you to the door," she offered gently.

"He's gonna take it better than Mac expects, I'm tellin' ya," Joe insisted.

"I happen to agree.  But it's late and you're right:  Sol will be worried.  Go home, Joe.  We'll see you tomorrow and tell you all about it."

When she came back from watching Joe into Sol's car, Rich was just collecting his drink from Methos.  "So, about this joke.  What's the punch line?"

Duncan started to say something, and apparently lost the sentence somewhere between opening his mouth and actually talking.  Connor gave him an amused look and Methos was openly scornful.

"Okay, guys, what's the problem?  You need my room back tomorrow, you're afraid I'll break all the fine crystal at the party, Aidan's going to run amuck with the mistletoe at this shindig and you're trying to figure out how to post the storm warnings, what's the deal?"

"Only you, Ryan, could do that in one breath," Methos answered, amused.  "Come on, MacLeod, answer him."

Connor pointed out mildly, "Which one?  I thought this was Duncan's story?"

Aidan gently said, "Dhonnchaidh."

"Well, they do say a picture's worth a thousand words...," Methos speculated gleefully

"What pictures?" Duncan promptly spluttered.

Rich hastily said, "Guys, guys, I don't really need to see pictures.  I'm sure Aidan's photogenic, but I spar with the lady and that would be really, really distracting, you know?  Thanks, but no thanks."

"What pictures?" Mac growled again, only to be silenced when Methos walked over to him.

"This one, MacLeod."  The oldest immortal sank onto the Scot's lap so that they were both in front of the fireplace, and kissed him as if both their heads depended on arousing Duncan to the same heat as the fire.

Connor didn't bother to watch their clinch; the expression on Ryan's face was much, much more entertaining.  Disbelief chased shock, then gave way to incredulity.

"Tell me I'm dreaming," Rich said blankly.  "I've got to be seeing things.  I'm upstairs asleep and dreaming about those guys on the Chicago flight, right?"

 _Well, he seems to be taking this well enough_ , Aidan thought.  "What about the Chicago flight?"

"Some bleach-blond twins in front of me who held hands and made out all the way in," he said distractedly, unable to take his eyes off the scene in front of him.  Mac had both arms wrapped around Methos and Rich hadn't seen him this enthusiastic about a kiss since the last time Amanda was in town in that short skirt....

The young redhead glanced over at Connor, who was grinning, and Aidan, who was also smiling, and said indignantly, "You guys are just putting me on.  What, Mac lost a bet and this was the forfeit or something?"

"Not exactly," Aidan murmured.  "You remember that bet we made?"

"Oh, man!!" Rich groaned.  "Oh, no, you have got to be kidding me.  Come on, Aidan, please, you're kidding, right?"

Duncan heard the dismay in Rich's voice and that finally pulled him away from Methos' mouth.  Not having heard Aidan's comment, the only thing he could think was that Methos' demonstration had just backfired badly.  "Rich, I--  I mean, we--  Oh, damn.  I meant to tell you, and I couldn't figure out what to say."

"Well, that's obvious, MacLeod," Methos said calmly.  "Blown a fuse yet, Ryan?"

"Oh, hell, Mac, just tell me he made the first move.  Please, I'm begging you."

Connor muttered, "I would have thought my kinsman'd be begging first, Rich."  Aidan snickered despite herself, although she tried to reach out and swat Connor into silence.  The older MacLeod dodged easily, and watched Duncan turn nine shades of red.

Methos wrapped one arm around Duncan's back for balance and glanced over at Rich.  "Got the story, or does it need subtitles, you think?"

"No, it doesn't need subtitles.  I hate movies with subtitles.  Come on, Mac, who started this?  I gotta know, please."

Duncan groaned, momentarily burying his face against Methos' shoulder, then sat up to face the music and deal with his upset student.  "Does it really matter, Rich?"

"Hell, yes, it matters."

Connor glanced over at his kinsman's young student, wondering at the uncharacteristic outburst.  Why, exactly, was Aidan grinning at this whole debacle instead of trying to calm Ryan down?  Out loud, he asked thoughtfully, "Aidan?  What bet?"

Methos studied the young-looking Irish woman, saw her grin, and began to put two and two together.  "More to the point, Connor, who won?"

Duncan, who'd been trying to frame an apology for not telling Rich sooner, paused in mid-word and started to glare at Aidan.  " _Culcheen_ , what bet?"

"Hmm."  Methos looked at Rich, at Aidan, and back at Rich.  "Now that I think about it, Ryan, I suspect a better question would be, what bets?  How many and what was the wager?  I'm your best source of 'inside information' as it were," he insinuated, leering at the Scot and then turning back to the red-faced young redhead.

Aidan howled with laughter, sliding out of her chair and curling herself around Connor's legs to keep from rolling into the card table.  Connor, unfortunately, was no help whatsoever; he was chortling too hard himself, great whoops of laughter at his kinsman's discomfiture and Rich's equal parts mixture of prurience, curiosity, and embarrassment.

Duncan tightened his grip around Methos, torn between a desire to throttle Aidan (who was out of reach), to throttle Methos (who wasn't out of reach, and thus too much temptation) and a need to beat Connor senseless (to stop his cousin laughing at him).  He was beginning to feel like the dog in Aesop's fable, torn between which bone to maul....

Rich took himself and his screwdriver out of harm's way hastily, then downed half of the drink just in case.  "All right, Aidan, just take pity on my wallet, okay?  Can we do dinner someplace that doesn't run too high, please?"

She waved one hand in helpless acquiescence, still giggling madly as she'd made the mistake of looking at Duncan's furious face again just a moment before.  Besides which, Rich's wounded tone set her off even worse....

The younger Highlander growled, "I suppose I should be grateful it was only dinner.  And since you insist on knowing, I made the pass at him."

"Took him forever, too," Methos replied unhelpfully.  "I had decided years ago that it simply wasn't going to be, that we were destined never to--"  A very determined kiss stopped the melodrama finally, before Connor and Aidan could choke on their laughter.

"Oh, damn," Rich groaned, turning a shade of red which made Connor ponder the possibility of an immortal having a strokes.  "Oh, come on, Aidan, did you set this up?  Two dinners?  I'm never going to get money set aside like the rest of you at this rate!"

Connor made himself draw several deep breaths, deliberately staring at the patterning of the chair's upholstery rather than look at Duncan, or Rich, or Aidan.  Especially not Aidan; laughter like this was highly contagious, and she was still shaking against his leg with giggles, although they were finally slowing down.  "Old man, do you know Walter Graham, or were you chewing the scenery in Will's time?"

"Aristophanes, I'll have you know," Methos answered cheerfully.  It was a muffled voice at best, as the slender man was busy blowing warm air across the nape of Duncan's neck to make him shiver.

"Eric who?" Rich grumbled, mentally toting up the damage to his wallet and flinching.

Aidan groaned.  "Just for that, Rich, you're cooking one of those dinners... and if it isn't edible, and something other than Kraft Macaroni and Cheese or Hamburger Helper, you're doing it again until you get it right!"

"I've got to see these cooking lessons," Connor commented.  "Are you finished laughing, sister, or do I need to keep studying this cushion?"

"Oh, I'm marginally under control," she snickered.  "It'll do."

Duncan growled, "You bet on me and Methos?"

Aidan shrugged unrepentantly.  "I bet on all sorts of things, Dhonnchaidh.  You didn't complain about having a bath attendant when you won at Gina and Robert's, may I point out?"

"No, you may not!" he huffed.  "The point is that you not only bet on us, you bet on who'd--"

While Duncan paused, searching for a word that wouldn't reduce him to the depths of embarrassment again, Rich contemplated the bath attendant comment and hastily decided not to go there.  His date with Ginger wasn't until Monday and this was only Thursday... well, all right, Friday morning, but still.

Methos meanwhile was being as extraordinarily helpful as only five thousand years of practice allowed.  "Seduce?  Sweet-talk?  Tumble?  Trip the other and beat him to the floor?  Grab ass?"  He slipped off Mac's lap quickly, dodging the cuff aimed vaguely at his chest, and continued gleefully, "Oh, let's see, lure?  Entice?  Charm?  Beguile?  Cozen?  Tempt?  Corrupt?  Ravish?  Lead astray?  Persuade with sweet reason?  Win over to the Dark Side of the Force?"  Methos' voice slid down into a passable imitation of James Earl Jones on the last phrase, and Aidan forcibly reminded herself not to laugh again.

"I'll show you force," Duncan growled, springing up from the fireplace to chase the oldest immortal around the living room.

Aidan plastered herself against the fireplace and Connor drew his legs up into the chair as Methos and Duncan played ring around the furniture.  Rich watched the Old Man's evasive tactics with great admiration for his complete lack of scruples.  Tossing the vase to Mac to catch was a low-down dirty trick, and besides, it won Methos at least half-a-dozen strides.

What finally stopped the insanity, saving both the furniture and Mac's dignity, was Rachel calling downstairs, "Do I really have to come down, or could you all act your ages?  In decades, at least?"

Methos considered that for a moment, then enacted a truly breath-taking and tear-jerking death scene, falling back onto the couch from a completely non-existent and frequently misplaced fatal wound.  He continued to give good advice to his hypothetical heirs between gasps for breath and apparent final deaths while sprawled on the couch.  In between checking on the condition of his death wound, which seemed to migrate from heart, to belly, to lower areas and back up, he made bad puns, assigned truly ridiculous bequests, and complained of his wife's infidelities... using a different woman's name each time.

The only thing that made him reluctantly lie back and 'die' was the sight of Aidan advancing with a pillow and muttering, "This might give us a few moment's peace...."

Rich laughed.  "Oh, God, Methos, that was great.  That beat out Paul Reubens in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, y'know?"

Connor shook his head, still grinning.  "Rich, I'll say this so that Duncan doesn't have to.  There's a perfectly good movie version of Hamlet in the bookshelf.  Will you please watch it sometime while you're here?  That was Polonius' death speech he was mangling!"

"Well, and Mercutio's puns from Romeo and Juliet," Duncan added, still smiling despite himself.  "You're right, Connor; he did sound like Walter."

"Wound a man, why don't you, MacLeod?  Besides, I told you, 'darling' -- I'm an actor," Methos commented snidely.  "Who'll bring me a beer?"

"No one," Connor said resolutely.  "Go to bed, everyone.  It's two in the morning and we have work to do.  The party's tomorrow night, remember?  And as for you two," and he skewered Duncan and Methos with dark green eyes, "if you still have excess energy?"

Rich quipped, "Who pays their electrical bill?"

"Try not to let Aidan scream too loudly, hmm?  Rachel needs her sleep," Connor finished and stared her down when she raised a pillow.  "Oh, no, you don't.  Bed.  Now."

"Whose?" Methos asked with great innocence.

"Not mine, old timer.  Other than that, I really don't want care," Rich responded immediately with a casual shrug, both to keep Methos' mischief at bay and to try and reassure his teacher that he was okay with all of this.  Mac thanked him with a look and the redhead shrugged again, then cheerfully said, "And I don't know about you guys, but I'm tired."

Aidan watched the young immortal head upstairs to bed, then gave Connor an indignant look.  "I do not scream.  At least, not here," she quickly said when Methos started to say something.

"He needed the joke," Connor said blandly.  "Besides, it's only a few decibels shy of screaming."

"We're still practicing," Methos retorted equally blandly.  "Give us another couple of weeks to break the crystal, hmm?"

Aidan looked at the three men grinning at each other in a smug masculine conspiracy and muttered in disgust, "And both the other guest rooms are full.  Oh, well, I've slept on the couch before."

"Couch?" Duncan asked curiously.  "That'll get a bit crowded."

She turned calm grey eyes on him.  "I was going to let Methos work on the lower register, since that's closer to his own range.  Bass notes, and all."  Connor choked on several things he wouldn't say, a sound suspiciously like a stifled laugh.  "Besides, I wouldn't want to interrupt such glorious male-bonding."

"You are not slipping super glue into the bedside table," Methos said implacably, making both MacLeod's wince at the visions that brought to mind.  "Quit sulking and come to bed, Edana.  Otherwise Connor will have to keep you company -- the whole guest-right and honor mess.  And I doubt you'd be any quieter in his bed," her teacher added cheerfully.

Connor dropped Methos a flourishing bow, kissed Aidan's hand when he came back up from it, and said pleasantly, "I'll lock my doors tonight.  No quickenings in the house, please, they're hell on the antiques.  Morning, sister.  Robert," and he nodded to Methos, deliberately reverting to the first name he'd known the other immortal by.  "Duncan.  Don't trust him with beer, by the way.  He'll get you so drunk, you'll make a public ass of yourself."

Methos grinned at the older Highlander; Connor always was fun when he wasn't hunting someone.  "Highlander, you'll hurt the lady's feelings.  Locking your door against her?"

Connor headed for the stairs, calling over his shoulder, "You sound like FitzCairn.  And old man?  I'm locking my door against you.  My sister's a lady."  'Unlike you,' his tone implied.

"Do you know, I think I have been called a tart once or twice, but it was decades ago and we were all rather thoroughly stoned," Methos said meditatively.  "Night, Connor."

"I think they were referring to your taste," Aidan murmured.

Duncan tipped her chin up with one hand so that she'd meet his gaze.  "Did you really bet Rich on whether Methos and I would end up in bed together?"

She shrugged a bit helplessly.  "It was the only way I could get him to take the idea seriously?"

"And another bet on who was going to make the first move?"

"Um, well... yes."  She glanced down, then looked up at him through her eyelashes.  "I do occasionally get tired of cooking, you know.  I've only been doing it for twenty-six centuries.  Are you mad at me?"

Duncan groaned at her 'sweet little girl' voice and realized immediately that he should never have let her meet Amanda.  "What am I going to do with you?" he asked helplessly.

Methos smiled wickedly when she answered in the same helpless voice, "Surely we can think of something?"

* * * *

Amanda pulled Nick Wolfe through the elevator door, protesting as he came.  "Now, look, Amanda, they're your friends, I'm just intruding."

An amused voice said, "That's never stopped her before."

Nick turned and saw an elegant, slender blond woman smiling at him from a doorway.  _She and Lucy may be contemporaries, but time's treating her kindly._   "Nick Wolfe.  I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. ...?"

"Ellenstein.  Rachel Ellenstein.  And Amanda is forever bringing people to places they never anticipated," Rachel smiled.  "I'm sure that they can find another chair for the poker game.  Please, come in."

The one-time cop walked down the indicated stairs, only to be nearly run over by Amanda who was advancing at full speed to greet people.  The sight in front of him stopped Nick in surprise.  It was a room two stories high, full of people, tables, antiques, and laughter.  A long-legged man wearing a gloriously oversized sweater and battered jeans lounged on a couch with a laughing woman sitting beside his hip, brushing out yard-long brown hair.  A tall, broad-shouldered man, his dark hair pulled back into a pony-tail, was arm-wrestling a slighter, sandy-blond opponent at the bar and trading obviously friendly insults about soft living.

A young Hispanic man whose dark hair fell around his shoulders stepped around the blond, liberated a bottle of whiskey and high-tailed it away before they could protest.  A grey-haired older man sat in a chair by the fireplace, tuning a guitar; the muscular young redhead next to him held up an empty glass and waved it at Amanda, who had promptly snagged the bottle and was heading toward the fireplace.

From slightly behind and to his left, Wolfe heard laughter.  "Joe said she couldn't walk in without trouble following behind.  Hey, Wolfe."

He never even turned.  "I know that voice.  Can't even tell you not to pick on your seniors, can I, Vetter?"

Tracy Vetter walked over from where she'd been raiding the fridge:  young, blond, and no longer the rookie he'd met a few years before.  "I wish you could, Wolfe.  Not enough good cops out there."

 "Yeah, well, there're a few less crooked ones now," he muttered.  "I'm not going back.  Don't even try, Trace."

"You never were one to change your mind," she agreed.  "Unless you got new evidence.  If you ever decide you want to come back, let me know, and I'll try to twist a few arms, okay?  But have you met my partner?"

Another blond man moved to stand by her shoulder, and offered Wolfe his hand.  "Nick Knight, 96th Precinct, Homicide.  Nice to meet you."

"Best success percentage on the night shift," Wolfe said admiringly.  "A pleasure."  _Decent handshake, too.  None of this hand-crushing BS.  Wonder how much of a fight Police Commissioner Vetter gave his baby girl when she tried to go into Homicide?  Poor kid.  Bet it was rough._   "So who's holding Toronto together?"

Amanda called over, "Lucy, of course.  Who'd you think?"

All three cops, current and former, exchanged commiserating looks before grandly overlooking the comment.

The long-haired brunette from the couch walked over, fingers dancing almost independently as they braided a thick lock.  "Trace, Nick, who don't you know?  Or is that almost everyone?"

Nick Knight chuckled.  "Most of them I haven't really met yet.  Aidan, do you know Nick Wolfe?"

She shook her head, hands still busy.  "No, I don't.  I hate to do it to you, but how do you feel about being called by your last name?  Otherwise this will get very confusing, very quickly.  Same for you," she added to the blond vampire.  "Knight, just get used to hearing your surname."

"Suits," Wolfe agreed pleasantly.  "And you would be?"

"Mothers of Gods, I'll forget my own hands next to go along with my courtesy.  My apologies.  I'm Aidan Logan.  Shall I introduce you, since Amanda has yet to figure out that Joe is largely immune to her wiles?"

"He is not," came the indignant reply. "I've never had to use them on Joe.  He's a gentleman."

"Who knows when to cut his losses," came the agreeable reply in a gravelly voice which made Wolfe grin.  "Who's who, darlin'?  And no, Amanda, Javier acquired me that bottle fair and square; get your own."

Aidan smiled at both the Nicks, grey eyes dancing, then said, "All right, from left to right?"

"Suits," Wolfe chuckled.  "I even promise to remember names later."

"Better than most manage," she laughed.  "Well enough.  The lovely blond next to you is Tracy Vetter, as you already seem to know.  Standing next to her is her partner, Nick Knight, whom you also know.  The reprobates at the bar are Duncan -- "

The taller, dark-haired man called out, "I'll meet them after I win this."

"Kinsman, I taught you better than that," and his sandy-blond opponent reached across the bar and tickled him, slamming the hand down when Duncan flinched back.

"Point to him," commented the lounging figure on the couch.

"Adam, put a sock in it."  Duncan walked over to shake hands with Wolfe, still eyeing his kinsman narrowly.  "Duncan MacLeod.  That's my cousin, Russell Nash.  It's his house and party."

Connor collected three beers and handed one to Wolfe before giving another to Duncan.  "A pleasure, Wolfe.  You're a brave man."  He popped the cap off his drink and stuffed it in a pocket.  "Adam, any beer caps on the floor and you clean the kitchen."

"This is America , remember?  Innocent until proven guilty?"

"Did you want to start behind the refrigerator now, then?  I was sober last night."  Connor grinned when that shut Adam up and turned back to Nick Wolfe.  "Sorry, where were we?  Oh.  Bravery."

"What, coming to your party?"

"Traveling with Amanda," was the grinning answer.  "She's devious, tricky, mischievous, elusive, a trouble-magnet, and death on credit cards... everyone else's."

"You forgot charming, lovely, witty, sophisticated--"

"Modest," Aidan murmured as she interrupted the thief's litany.  "And lacking in manners.  Abandoning guests?  Amanda!"

The platinum-haired woman pursed her lips, then gave her friend an innocent look.  "But you handle all the little details so well, Aidan, and I haven't seen Joe in ages...."

"What, hon, about three months?" her would-be alibi asked, openly grinning.

"Well, it felt longer," she replied indignantly.  "Nick Wolfe, this is Joe Dawson, who plays the most incredible blues.  And Rich Ryan, a good friend of mine."  The young redhead next to Joe ducked his head when Amanda bent over his chair and wrapped both hands around his chest.

Nash openly admired the view, grinning at Duncan and mentioning, "Spathic, isn't she?"

MacLeod choked on his beer, which made Wolfe wonder what in the hell he'd just said, then grinned and said, "Oh, definitely."  More softly he said, "Tell you later, Wolfe, after she's gone shopping.  Hide your wallet, though."

Amanda glared at all of them and asked sweetly, "Are you done yet?  I'm sure I can find the nearest dictionary if you're not and decide whether or not I've been insulted."  Big brown eyes peered from under dark lashes at Duncan and she added sweetly, "It might be an interesting apology, Duncan."

The Scot shrugged noncommittally.  "You could learn English, Amanda, that's the language you need to checking.  Besides, I don't think Aidan's agreed to help you yet; I've still got time to run."

"You're taking all the fun out of this," the thief pouted.  "Oh, all right.  Wolfe, this is Javier Vachon."  The young Spaniard smiled up at Wolfe, and bent back over the guitar.  "The 'gentleman' on the couch" and Methos threw her a lazy two-fingered salute, unfazed by the insult, "is Adam Pierson."

"Amanda?" Aidan called to her.

"What, dear?"

"Say 'thank you' to the nice Scot and let's get going."

"Thank you?!" the thief squawked indignantly.  "For what?  And where are we going?"

"The compliment on your bust line.  And I thought you'd like to go shopping.  Tracy needs a dress for the party tomorrow."

Rachel watched the slow smile cross Amanda's face and was reminded of a National Geographic special on lionesses sighting their prey.  "Aidan, would you mind walking me home, then?  I'd like to sleep in my own bed before we deal with all the last-minute madness tomorrow."

"Shopping, hmm?"

"Amanda, I'm paying," Aidan said firmly.  "Which means I will veto whatever I don't like."

"Excuse me, I get a say in this," Tracy protested.  "We are not playing dolls, here."

"I think she's -- "  Vachon fell silent when Joe elbowed him in the ribs and watched the women leave, still debating who was paying and who was picking out.  After they were gone, the door closed behind, the young vampire said, "I was just going to say I thought she was a doll."

Joe rolled his eyes.  "Son, I know what you were going to say, and it was going to get you attacked by some dangerous women, too."  He clapped a hand on the young vampire's shoulder, grinning at the idea of a mortal warning a 'prince of the night' as Javier jokingly referred to the whole thing.  _On the other hand, vampire or no, Aidan and Amanda....  Be a hell of a choice.  Who to bet on?  Both sides, definitely._

Wolfe shook his head.  "Amanda would have had your hide, Vachon.  All right, MacLeod," and the former cop made a mental note that both Duncan and Russell turned at that name.  _Interesting_.  "What in hell does 'spathic' mean?"

Nash grinned at him.  "Geologic term.  Means 'having good cleavage.'  Help Duncan with the chairs, would you?  Adam, you drink enough beer, come give me a hand.  And Joe, you're in charge of the stereo.  Who brought the cards?"

~ ~ ~

"Gimme three," Joe said, dropping cards into the discard pile.  "So, there we were -- "

Vachon interrupted, "No, no, it's 'no shit, there we were....'  Indicates you're blowing smoke."

Wolfe shook his head and said, "Whatever happened to classics?"  Duncan grinned wickedly over his beer, and Adam just looked amused.   The former cop went on, "You know, 'Once upon a time?' "

Rich snickered, "Oh, you can still find classics," then flinched and stifled a yelp.

Adam said thoughtfully, "Classics.  So, what kind of dress do you think they'll find for Tracy?  Black velvet?"

"At Christmas?"  Connor shrugged and studied the results of his size nines on Rich's shin, then nodded in satisfaction.  "I thought you said classic.  What's wrong with green velvet, or red satin?"

"I said classic, not antique."  Methos dropped a card on the pile.  "One."

Knight said cheerfully, "Is this a poker game or a fashion review?  None for me."

"Forget classic," Vachon chuckled.  "What's wrong with a nice tight skirt slit up to here, and the cleavage on the top down to here?"

Wolfe glanced over to see the indicated markings, and didn't see which hand had moved when.  Deliberately misinterpreting, he mused, "Cleavage to here," indicating mid-thigh, "and skirt to here," and indicated his sternum.  "Yeah, that's classic.  Venus de Milo, Titian, Reubens....  Yeah, classic."

Most of the guys were grinning at that, until Joe looked around thoughtfully.  "You know, guys?  I got one question."

"What, Joe?"

"I'm really wondering, Mac, just how good an idea this was."

"What?" Connor asked, throwing two chips in to raise the pot.  "The poker game?"

"No.  Letting those three loose on the town."

Duncan pulled his wallet out and checked.  "I've got all my credit cards.  Wolfe?"

"What credit cards?  I hide them when Amanda's around."

Vachon shrugged.  "Credit cards?  Who needs them?  Well, except for French windows."  Nick Knight shot him a hard look, almost visibly warning him to behave.  Methos controlled a cold smile watching the blond cop flare into master vampire for half a moment -- just long enough to try to leash Vachon's tongue.

Wolfe glanced around the table, still accumulating data, but more interested by the minute.  No one in the room looked surprised that Vachon didn't care for credit cards.  Knight had just done something to rein in Vachon, and while their relationship might have been cop and informant, the rest of their behavior was way too informal and friendly for that.  Vachon definitely deferred to Knight, but not the way a snitch would.  Besides, who in hell would bring an informant to an out of town party?  As for the others....

'Russell Nash' was not his name; MacLeod was, first name unknown.  Aidan's behavior had been slightly off-kilter, almost eccentric, particularly in her attention to formalities and courtesies.  And while 'Mothers of Gods' might simply be a New Age affectation, she seemed entirely too down to earth to go for  the religion/philosophy of the year.  Rich, Duncan, and Adam had been trading some private joke about 'classics' -- which led to some interesting speculation, as they were all good friends of Amanda's.  She was immortal; there were other immortals; and granted this was New York City in December, but why were so many of the coats trenchcoats?   Parkas were the in thing this year.  He stretched ostentatiously and folded his hand.  "I'm out."

Pushing his chair back, Wolfe stretched his hands over his head and said casually, "Back in a sec," and backtracked toward the front door.  There had been a half-bath that way... and the coat rack.  A half-minute's quick investigation confirmed several suspicions:  two dusters had swords stashed in the seams, beautiful tailoring jobs and completely unnoticeable under casual inspection, or even a fairly careful one.

There was a katana in one; the other held a long, broad-bladed sword on one side, a dagger on the other, and a nine-mil pistol tucked into an inside pocket.  The silencer for the gun raised his eyebrow, but he left everything where it was.  A beige trenchcoat had some kind of Velcro strap or holster just above the side seam, but no sword.  The long leather motorcycle jacket had a sword sheath in the back, rigged to cross draw down to the right.  A saber, too, long mother.

A slow smile crossed his face.  The former detective used the bathroom partly for relief from the beer, more to cover his tracks.  _Leave it to Amanda to forget to tell me minor details, like four immortals at a party.  So where does Joe fit in?  And why don't the other coats have swords?  Was either Vetter or Logan an immortal?  The coats aren't here to check.  Knight left his shoulder holster in his jacket; he shouldn't really be carrying that here, but I would have, too.  And what has he got over Vachon?  I'll figure this out later._   He headed back to the game, grinning to himself.  Nick Wolfe had always liked solving puzzles; why else be a detective?

~ ~ ~

Answers came sooner than Wolfe had anticipated.  In the middle of some fairly tense bidding, amplified by the fact that Joe had declared one-eyed jacks wild, three of his suspected immortals went still for a moment.  Adam's eyes flicked back to his hand immediately, but Duncan and 'Russell' found excuses to glance around.  A moment later, Rich's eyes narrowed and his face hardened slightly with a determination that added several years to his apparent age and made him look much more dangerous.

The ringing doorbell was almost anti-climactic, but Joe's evident concern made Wolfe say casually, "I've got it."  He put his hand facedown on the table and stood up.

'Nash' said softly, "No, I'll get it, Wolfe.  Thanks, though."  The color of his eyes had shifted, going from green-brown to a shadowed near-black.  Light crossed his face as he turned and the eyes shaded to a gold so light as to be nearly colorless.

Duncan leaned back in his chair, apparently at ease, but his shoulders were tight.  Adam casually said, "Another beer, Mac?" and headed to the refrigerator.  Rich moved to poke up the fireplace, and Vachon picked that moment to stand and stretch.

Knight sat peacefully at the table, contemplating his hand, his head tipped slightly as if listening to something.  He sat across the table from Duncan, and the oddly identical body language said that neither was particularly relaxed.

Nash walked back in, his voice carrying before him.  "Marcus, how is it you always manage to show up just as I'm finally starting to win?"

"Momentum is a wonderful thing," a wonderfully resonant voice answered from the hallway as Russell escorted the newcomer in.  Curly, short black hair, alert, observant eyes, and an almost militarily erect posture caught Wolfe's attention first, followed by the cultured tones and the air of authority.  "But skill never hurts, Russell."

Adam rolled his eyes in disdain.  "Marcus, winning streaks aren't necessarily trans-oceanic, you know."

"Worth trying, I would say, Adam.  How many chips to start with?  And who's in charge of introductions?"

Duncan chuckled and said, "Kinsman, your problem.  There's a good red on the counter, Marcus.  You can get in after this hand."

"Marcus Constantine, this is Javier Vachon, Nicholas Knight, and Nick Wolfe.  I think you already know the rest?"

"Actually," Marcus said casually, pouring himself a glass of wine, "I know Nicholas already.  His father is a good friend of mine.  How is Lucius?"

"He's well, Marcus," Nick answered guardedly, trying to keep the conversation innocuous.  "An unavoidable social obligation tonight, but he'll be here for the party tomorrow."

 _In other words_ , Marcus translated, _my old acquaintance is paying a courtesy call to the Master of New York so that no tempers flare.  I somehow doubt that any of the Toronto vampires are being allowed to hunt here. That could make life difficult.  I'll need to check later, when there are fewer ears around.  If there's need, I would be willing to feed them, and probably Aidan would as well.  Three vampires, a two or three night stay....  This will be manageable._

"Good, I haven't enjoyed a good argument with him in ages."

"What are you arguing about?" Connor asked in genuine interest.

"Let one of us open his mouth long enough for words to spill out," Marcus smiled.  "It won't take long."

Wolfe couldn't help smiling at that.  _Oh, this is something.  I think we just hit five immortals, but what's the deal with Knight?  He sounded like old money for a second there, and he looks like a young lieutenant reporting to the Chief of Police or something.  This is getting interesting.  About all we need now is for someone's Watcher to show up.  Damn but Amanda doesn't like them.  Me, I think it's professional jealousy; she wants some of their neat toys, I'd bet, and to be on an expense account for them._

An errant thought skittered across his mind, and Nick Wolfe pushed it down hastily, but it kept returning. _The one person I can't peg here is Dawson.  He doesn't miss a thing... I wonder if he could be a Watcher?  Bet they'd love to infiltrate this party if there are this many immortals here already and the party's not 'til tomorrow night.  Now I don't know what the deal is with Knight and Vachon, but there's something off about them.  Not immortals, I don't think, but something._

 _The MacLeods, and Ryan, and Pierson, and this Constantine are immortals.  I'd bet money on that one.  But Dawson isn't an immortal, not with that walk and the cane.  He'd never survive a sword fight.  Besides, he's the closest thing to normal in this bunch_ \-- _well, other than Ryan, who seems pretty normal.  Wary as an alley cat, but that's normal for a street-rat and I think Amanda said he was._

 _So.  Do I wait for someone to blow some covers?  Or push it and find out?  Or wait and ask Amanda?  Well, that's  assuming she'd give me a straight answer...._   Wolfe chuckled out loud at that thought, and when Duncan glanced at him inquiringly, only answered, "Just deciding how to place my bet, MacLeod."

The undercurrent in Wolfe's voice caught Methos' attention immediately and he glanced over, eyes narrowing as he saw the thoughts spinning across the other man's face.  Joe saw the look on Wolfe's face and shook his head in dismay.  Cops always put too much together, that was why the Watchers kept recruiting them.  Deliberately, the bluesman reached out to drop his ante into the pot, letting the cuff ride up his wrist to reveal the indigo tattoo.

Joe shook his head again, sadly, when he saw Wolfe's eyes fasten on the mark with recognition and pleased comprehension.  "Damn, Amanda opened her mouth again, didn't she?"

Wolfe's head came up swiftly to study the older man, then he raked a glance around the table to see who'd caught the significance of that comment.  _Interesting.  Everyone did._ "I believe the correct phrase is, 'Busted.'  She didn't exactly open her mouth, though, Mr. Dawson.  She took a bullet in the chest from the same crooked bastard who killed my partner."

Nick Knight turned and stared in shock.  "I heard your partner was killed in the line of duty."

"She was," Wolfe said savagely.  "She took a bullet meant for Amanda.  But it was fired by a crooked cop.  He was robbing jewel thieves and fences, you see, and Amanda just wouldn't hold still to be framed for murder."

Connor raised his beer bottle.  "To an honest woman, with very odd opinions on personal property."

"Not odd at all," Methos muttered.  "What's hers is hers.  What isn't nailed down is hers.  If it can be pried or dynamited loose, it's not nailed down."

"Now you, Mr. Dawson, are a Watcher.  Amanda had to tell me about your organization; I was in the process of calling in two of your people to the precinct as stalkers."

Duncan pounded his hand on the table, howling with gleeful laughter.  "Remember that one, Joe, the next time you think about breaking in a new Watcher on me."

The bluesman shot him a disgusted look.  "I'll do that, Mac.  Just keep this conversation in mind next time you want a favor, hmm?"

"Point to Joe," Methos said lazily.

"What I can't figure out," Wolfe said bluntly, "is where Knight and Vachon fit in."

Rich  shook his head and deliberately interrupted Wolfe's train of inquiry.  "Damn, I should have bet Aidan on this one."

Several heads turned at that and Marcus said thoughtfully, "What bet?"

"I told her he was a cop, and we'd get nailed.  She said not to worry about it."

Wolfe stood up and headed for the bar.  "Anyone want a fresh drink?  And you're busted, Ryan, not nailed.  What am I going to do, arrest the lot of you for self defense?  Give me a break.  But could I get a more accurate set of introductions?  For instance, what's your real name, Mr. MacLeod?"

"It's Duncan MacLeod," the younger Highlander answered casually.

"I didn't mean you," Wolfe answered calmly.  "I meant the homeowner."

Connor leaned back in his chair, his hand face down on the table, and studied Wolfe from half-closed eyes, immobile as a snake studying prey.  Then he sat up, laughing a clipped, sharp laugh.  "Not bad at all, Wolfe.  You're very good, in fact.  I'm Connor MacLeod."

"Brothers?"

"Not exactly," came the evasive answer.  "Same clan, though."

"Okay.  Both MacLeods are immortals, and the contents of your coat were fairly interesting, Mr. Pierson -- very illegal, but interesting.  Damn nice saber, Ryan, and one of the few swords I know by name.  Always had this fascination with the cavalry.  As for you, Mr. Constantine, I've seen Amanda when an immortal was near, and there were some paranoid people for a few seconds just about the time you rang the doorbell."

Methos tilted his head to one side, running body language and personality traits through his mind as he considered the threat level across the table from him.  The young ex-policeman was very good indeed, very observant, and skilled at fitting information together... but he was also traveling with a jewel thief.  Amanda wasn't likely to invite a man to Connor's party who'd betray them all.  She was sometimes foolish, but rarely suicidal.

All the oldest immortal said aloud was, "Self-defense is a wonderful claim in court, Wolfe, and why don't you go back to first names?  You'll have people thinking you plan to turn us in otherwise."

"I'd like to live 'til dawn," the ex-cop said bluntly.  "I'm not turning anyone in for anything, but I'd damn well like to know what's going on and how much trouble to expect at this party tomorrow."

Rich shrugged and said, "He's got a good point there, guys."

Constantine said thoughtfully, "May I assume the police force was upset to lose you, young man?"

Knight chuckled and said, "They'd take him back in half a second, Marcus, and give him a promotion in the process."

"I thought as much."  The Roman sighed and said, "Very well, since curiosity might well get you killed tomorrow and I'd rather not see what Amanda can do in a temper, ask your questions."

Wolfe said casually, "Just wanted to clear the air.  Couldn't see any reason for people to have to worry about more than one poker face.  But, Knight, where do you and Vachon fit in?"

Vachon shrugged.  "Right between Joe and Adam, where I don't usually have to bid first."

Knight rolled his eyes.  "We're not swordsmen, if that's what you're wondering."

Wolfe tilted his head and grinned.  "You know something, Knight?  I haven't even heard Amanda use that term.  But I'm not asking what you aren't, I'm asking what you are."

"Homicide detective," Nick Knight said pleasantly, but he was paying close attention to the other Nick's reactions. _Pulse is steady, breathing calm, and no taint of fear in his scent.  He's very interested in this, but not nervous.  Decisions, decisions.  What can he handle?  What does he need to know?  LaCroix will be furious if I expose us to a mortal without cause.  On the other hand, he's in company with Amanda, and Janette intends to see her soon.  Perhaps I should tell him; Tracy may yet have to._

Wolfe chuckled at the answer.  "Oh, come on, Knight, I'm not some first year patrolman.  You're not an immortal, but what are you?  You answer questions from Constantine like a desk sergeant reporting to the precinct commander.  And you leashed Vachon with a look, and he put up with it.  No one brings an informant to a party.  What's the deal?"

Vachon bristled at the implications of 'leash', but stayed silent at Knight's warning look.  With a sudden mischievous smile, he shoved his wineglass at Wolfe before Knight could grab for it.  "Mind refilling this?  Then I'll answer.  If he doesn't."

The blond vampire sighed as he saw Wolfe's nose twitch.  "We're not swordsmen, Wolfe.  I didn't say we aren't immortal."  As Amanda's mortal friend ( _Lover, perhaps?_ Knight's mind wondered) moved to the bar and pulled the wrong bottle, Nick sighed and said, "No, you'll want the bottle to the left.  Your right."

Wolfe poured the refill, then his motions slowed and he stared into the wineglass in shock.  "Christ, Knight, what's in this?  It smells like...."  He fell silent, deliberately forcing himself to think.  "Immortal?  And this isn't just wine, is it?  Right color, but too thick, and it smells like a fresh crime scene.  So do you catch Lugosi film fests on your free weekends?"

Rich's eyes widened as he caught what Wolfe had just implied.  He spun to look at Vachon. _I've been talking motorcycles with this guy all night, and watching him argue guitar chords with Joe, and he's a_ \-- _Jesus!  Mac and the Old Man aren't turning a hair, either.  Vampires?  I thought life didn't get any weirder than immortals and ghosts!_

"Vachon, if Tracy didn't think she loves you...."  Knight trailed off, then finally said softly, "You can explain this to LaCroix if it comes up."

Constantine's eyes narrowed, then he stated firmly, "No, Nicholas.  I said we would answer the gentleman's questions; tell Lucius he may discuss it with me."

"So you're vampires?  Explains a lot, Knight.  Your rep is too good for you to stay stuck on graveyard shift, unless you wanted to.  Oh, man, the bad jokes on that one....  Sorry."  Another thought struck Wolfe and he groaned, "Tell me Trace isn't a vampire."

"Nope," Vachon said cheerfully.  "Never will be, either.  Wouldn't turn her on a bet."

Adam said pleasantly, "Oh, you have a few survival instincts, Javier.  Wolfe, are you going to bet on this hand or not?"

"Yeah, I'll come bet."  The former cop settled down into his chair, passing Vachon's wine to him.

Duncan passed the chips and salsa over.  "So, raise or stand?"

Wolfe grinned at him and took the beer Rich passed, seeing the young man's startlement.  _Guess they didn't tell him either._ "For now?  Stand."

 * * * *

Aidan stretched luxuriously, which drew a swat from Methos.  "Hold still, Edana, or I'll coil your hair into knots you'll never undo."

"Sorry, Magister," she said, sounding completely unrepentant.  "Shoulders are stiff."

"Too much shopping?"

Grey eyes rolled in merry counterpoint to her derision as Aidan chuckled, "No, too much carrying.  Amanda kept buying things for Tracy."

"And has your young officer figured out yet that Amanda is a thief?"

"I don't think she realizes how much of it Amanda picked up, no.  And she's not mine, quite.  She's not in the Game yet."  Aidan wiggled impatiently on the stool and Methos swatted her on the ass.

"I said quit that.  I'm almost done, but it's a great deal of hair to coil up, remember?"

His one-time student passed him another sapphire-tipped hair pin.  "I remember.  I've done this myself, more than once.  Truly, thank you."

"No, she's not in yet, but you're thinking about training her, aren't you?"

"I don't think so, Magister.  I keep thinking I've a student coming soon, but I've been dreaming of teaching someone French, and Trace already speaks it.  Besides, in the dreams I'm addressing someone male."

Methos smiled slightly and secured another curl.  "Well, that certainly isn't Tracy."

Connor stuck his head in the door, then whistled softly and walked in.  "Very nice, sister, very nice indeed."

Methos chuckled, suspecting the Highlander was enjoying the sight of Aidan clothed only in jewelry and make-up rather than the hair style he had been working on for the last forty-five minutes.  The dark mass was arranged in an upswept pile of braids and pinned curls, with one lock deliberately left hanging behind her ear to entice attention to her neck.  Much more fun to study the naked woman perched on a bench in front of the vanity mirror; she looked like a Degas study.  'Woman at her toilette?'  'Preparations for a ball?'

Aidan started to tilt her head to study him, only to hear Methos growl.  She settled for studying Connor from head to toe and back again.  Classic black tuxedo with a vest in his own MacLeod tartan variant, established centuries ago for him by the Clan Chief who'd been unable to prevent his exile, and a wickedly familiar pair of onyx and pearl cufflinks.  The Irishwoman stared at those, then groaned.  "Oh, Gods, Connor, how'd you win those off Kit?"

Connor shrugged innocently, knowing exactly what she meant.  "Would you believe he was foolish enough to wager them?"

"Oh, and how often has he tried to win them back?"

"Once or twice, I suspect.  Edana, give me that last...."  Methos placed the last pin and said thoughtfully, "All right, see if you can shake it loose."

Aidan shook her head carefully, then more emphatically, but no pins hit the floor and the hair stayed up.  "Not in the least.  Thank you, _muirnin_.  Will you pass me the dress?"

"Reduced to a lady's maid, Methos?" Connor chuckled.  "But don't you need to put on a few things first, sister?"

Methos smirked at him.  "Pleasant enough profession, youngster.  See lovely ladies in dishabille, get paid to enhance it, get to listen to all the gossip later when you're taking their hair back down and thus mark your blackmail prospects....  As I said, a nice job.  And you haven't seen her dress, have you?"

Aidan stepped into the waist carefully, then smoothed fabric up her chest and slid her arms into the sleeves.  Midnight blue silk clung lovingly from hip to torso, running up to a straight neckline along her collarbones emphasized by jet beading and a veiling of semi-transparent chiffon.  The sleeves apparently hung from the outmost points of her shoulders, open along the upper arms to just above the elbow, again outlined with chiffon and beading along both the slashed upper arms and on the pointed cuffs which extended out over her wrists onto the backs of her hands.

Connor could see why she wasn't wearing a conventional bra; the straps would have shown immediately.  Then his sister turned and his eyes widened appreciatively.  The back... wasn't.  Beaded chiffon spilled down from the points of her shoulders to the very base of her spine, quivering along her sides, barely covering the curves of her ass, and he had no idea why the dress wasn't falling off her with each movement.  There was no room under that open back for bra, or panties, or garter belt; even if they wouldn't have been outlined by the silk they'd have shown against that exposed skin.  Sapphire and diamond earrings glittered against pale skin, more sapphires glinted in dark hair, and for once she'd used makeup, darkening and emphasizing grey eyes.

The Highlander's bemusement made him the target of Methos' glee.  "Something wrong, youngster?"

Connor shook himself mentally, and answered with a forced casualness, "Not a thing, o venerable one.  Just admiring the scenery.  It's lovely, sister.  Truly.  Is the old man, here, carrying the large stick, or my kinsmen?  To beat the suitors off," he offered in explanation.

Aidan turned and smiled at him.  "It gets worse, Connor.  I'll show you the full effect, then I need to go check the wreaths and mistletoe for Rachel."

"It gets worse?"  She stepped into four inch heels, subtly changing her posture, and the Highlander whistled admiringly.  "Aye, I suppose you could call that worse.  Dani would have loved it; she liked it when you towered."

Aidan's expressive face altered, going still, then she said softly, "Yes, she did.  I'm off to help Rachel," she said in a determinedly cheerful voice.  "Help Dhonnchaidh get this one into his tux, would you?"  She breezed out the door quickly, before Methos could ask what that had been about.

Connor looked at his old drinking companion from Boston and said thoughtfully, "I suppose you could wear that, but she's right.  You'll be hideously underdressed."

Methos contemplated his favorite, beat-up, faded, softened, perfectly-broken-in jeans and the flannel shirt of Mac's that he'd stolen, washed and rewashed until it was soft as either lover's touch.  With a completely straight face he asked, "What's the problem?"

"If you don't mind standing out in an entire room with fifty some immortals invited?  Nothing.  I'll see you downstairs, Adam."  Connor chuckled on his way out.  That one would no more be conspicuous at a gathering of immortals than a vampire would willingly walk into sunlight.  But he had to wonder what his kinsman had done to Methos' tuxedo that getting the old man into it was this much of a chore.  When he passed Duncan in the hall, Connor mentioned, "He's all yours, kinsman.  You had to take up with a mule-headed immortal, didn't you?"

Thus warned, Duncan wasn't surprised to see Methos sprawled in an overstuffed chair, legs flopped over an arm of the furniture, still wearing the work clothes he'd pulled on for the morning's last minute preparations.  Without looking up, the older immortal asked, "Joining the ranks of penguins, MacLeod?"

"Not really," Duncan said in amusement.  "I don't recall any penguins with this coloring."

"Not bad at all," Methos admitted grudgingly.  "For a tuxedo."  His lover had managed to get hold of a pigeon's blood red cummerbund, brocaded in subtle touches of black and gold, which added just the right hint of restrained elegance to the younger Highlander's already impressive dark good looks.  Then he noticed the ruby earring in one ear and curiosity compelled him to ask, "Who gave you that?"

"Christmas present from Gina and Robert one year.  Fitz had the mate to it; a thank-you for standing up at their 200th anniversary.  Are you getting dressed or skipping the party?"

"Thought I might stay in and read," Methos said casually.

"All right," Mac said amiably.  "I'm going to be a bit busy helping Connor, but I'm sure Aidan can take care of herself."

"Meaning what, Highlander?" Methos asked suspiciously when Duncan said nothing else.

"Not a thing, old man.  The fact that LaCroix should be here in the next half-hour is completely irrelevant.  Aidan doesn't need moral support against her old patron."

"Cheap shot, Highlander.  I am not wearing a penguin suit."

Duncan shrugged.  "Your choice.  I figured you'd be torn between standing out and wearing stark black and white, so I got you this for a compromise."

Methos turned in the chair to see what this suitable 'accommodation' was, and cringed.  "My God, MacLeod, that looks like a cast-off from the Broadway revival of La Cage aux Folles!  What did you do, mug Nathan Lane?"  The cummerbund was not just pale blue -- baby blue \-- it managed to be ruffled.

"What is it with you and black and white?  What's wrong with grey?"

"Well, if you prefer," Mac said amiably and pointed to the tux he'd hung on the closet before Methos turned around.  Both pants and long jacket were rich black shantung silk, and the coat fell to knee length with a single button closure.  The shirt was white with a soft, high collar and no tie; the vest was intricately textured charcoal grey and silver.

"Where did you get this... abomination?"  Methos growled, throwing the baby blue fabric back at his lover.

"What is it you keep saying?  You're always in favor of options?  That's your option."

"I could stay up here...."

Duncan just gave him a disgusted look.  "And miss knowing who was downstairs?  You'd go crazy.  Besides, Methos," and the Scot played his best trump card, "do you really want Gina to have to come looking for you?"

Methos' lips twitched.  "I'll get dressed."

* * * *

Aidan smiled at Joe's wolf-whistle of appreciation and told him, "You'd best have done that for Rachel, too."

"He did," Rachel answered happily.  "You know, as much work as this party is, this is the part I like best.  The last few moments before the guests descend, when everything is completed and still perfect.  Who did your hair?"

"Adam did.  He'll be down in a few minutes, Joe," she added before the Watcher had to ask.  "However, I've a favor to ask of you both.  May I give you part of your gifts early?"

Sol smiled at her.  He'd shown up early, as always, to check things off for Rachel and reassure her that yes, the decorations were perfect.  "Of course, my dear.  Tomorrow is Solstice, I would be more surprised if you didn't."

"Actually, tonight is," Aidan said gently.  "The Celts counted time like the Jews, Sol, from sunset to sunset.  This is for you."  She handed him a small, gaily wrapped present, then gave similar packages to both Joe and Rachel.

The bluesman tore into his, rolling the paper up and tossing it into the wastebasket for a perfect three-pointer.  When he opened the box, the contents surprised him.  An intricately worked gold Celtic cross on a chain lay on velvet.  "Aidan, that's gorgeous."

"Here, then.  A gift for the season," she said quietly, and fastened it around his neck, pleased with the effect of the gold on Joe's tan and amused that the Watcher had shown up in a string-tie despite his otherwise conventional tux.  _A bluesman to the end, thank the Gods._

Rachel and Sol were examining Solomon's Seal pendants wrought in white and yellow gold, hers on a slender box chain, his on a thicker link.  "My dear," Sol said bemused, "it's lovely, but why?"

"Good luck," she shrugged casually.  Rachel gaped for a moment and Aidan chuckled, "Trust me, Rachel, the dress won't fall off for a simple shrug.  Despite what it looks like."

"That came very close, Aidan."  Rachel looked at her own dress consideringly.  "The neckline isn't right for a pendant, I'm afraid."

"Tuck it under then," the immortal woman suggested, and fastened the necklace on.  "But you're right," she added regretfully.  "It just won't work with the brocade on this jacket."

"I was thinking more that it's just a little too short and won't stay out on the top," Rachel answered.  "But it's lovely, and this way I won't lose it.  Thank you, dear.  I'm going to go see if Connor's ready."  She strode off, with the lights reflecting off the subtle sheen of her outfit's jade green silk.

Joe had just finished fastening Sol's for him, and Aidan smiled and adjusted the pendant to lie just under the other man's collar.  Joe nodded approval, saying, "Yeah, I can just see tangling that with the bow tie."  _I want this out in the open.  What the hell, Sol's got a strong heart._ "All right, darlin', you that worried about LaCroix?"

"Why take chances?" Aidan shrugged.

Sol tilted his head inquiringly.  "So, my dear, why do we all need holy symbols?  You had asked if I could wait to know of your friend, LaCroix.  Do you still need me to wait?"

"Better if you do," Aidan said frankly.  "But I suspect you've figured it out, old friend.  Yes, he's a vampire, and not the only one here.  But while I trust two of them to behave properly, but I'm never quite sure what Lucius will do."

"You trust even two of them, my dear?  From the literature, they have a reputation for being... self-centered, perhaps.  Do they consider themselves to be responsible to mortal standards?"

Joe chimed in, "Some of 'em, Sol.  You can trust Knight.  He's a homicide detective from Canada.  Good man.  He and MacLeod are gonna be good friends, I think, both of 'em honorable to a fault."

"Connor or Duncan?" Sol asked.

"Duncan, mainly, but he and Connor were gettin' along pretty well at the poker game, too."

"As for Vachon, he'd rather flirt with the ladies -- and it'd be flirting, too," Joe continued.

Aidan giggled at the thought of the young pre-immortal's reaction to finding Vachon with his mouth on someone else's throat.  "He had best stick to friendly flirting, else Tracy will yank him up on a leash.  She'll not kill him if she shoots him and she knows it, but it will hurt, and she knows that, too.  But yes, Vachon would rather have his dinner from a young and agreeable companion.  Lucius, however, is not as concerned with consent."

"They likely to look for dinner here?" Joe asked in concern.

"Nick brought his own supplies," she answered quietly.  "Vachon might, or Lucius.  They consider immortal blood... exquisite.  Vintage wine, so to speak.  However, Constantine and I have agreed to feed the both of them while they're in town, so with any luck it won't be a problem."

Sol's eyes widened slightly.  "My dear, was that wise?"

She shrugged slightly.  "Done's done, Sol.  Both have tasted my blood before.  Besides, I'll let Constantine handle Lucius; they've been arguing since Lucius was mortal, and Gods know that's long enough ago."

"How long?" Joe asked in great interest.

The doorbell rang and Aidan groaned.  "Showtime, gentlemen.  But Joe?  He became a vampire during the destruction of Herculaneum."

"Goddammit, doesn't she know any young immortals?"  Joe growled as she headed toward the door, almost too distracted to notice the back of her dress.  Behind him, Sol raised a hand to conceal his smile, although he sympathized completely with his younger counterpart.

~ ~ ~

The immortal waiting in the front foyer eyed the door closely, feeling one of their own approaching.  Connor saw Damiano first and grinned when he saw the lovely lady tucked protectively under the big man's arm.  Then he got a better look and had to conceal a flinch.  _Mother of God, she looks like Dani.  Oh, sister...._   Out loud, he said cheerfully, "Damiano, it's about time you showed up again.  Stealing the good women again?"

"Bite your tongue, Nash, she's one of the minions of the law," Damien replied in an equally jovial voice.

Connor looked at the tiny blond in a deep rose-velvet dress, gold curls trying to escape a Gibson girl bun, her green eyes spitting intelligence and momentary, mock indignation, and flinched inwardly again. _At least her eyes are green, not blue, and she's shorter.  The face is more oval than Dani's as well.  But, the color and cut of the dress are very much something Dani would have worn, and the energy off this one....  Oh, Aidan, this is going to hurt._   Then she spoke and some of his worries diminished.

"Mr. Nash, I'm Sylvana Storm.  Thank you for the invitation to your party."

Her Deep South accent and husky voice sounded nothing like Danielle St. Vir's clipped Pennsylvania Dutch tones, and Connor almost sighed in relief.  "Ms. Storm, you're more than welcome, although if you get tired of the lug here," and Damien gave him a sardonic look, "let me know and I'll introduce you around.  Damien, when she gets down, Aidan's looking for you."

"I just got here," the redheaded immortal pointed out calmly.  "I can't be in trouble yet."

"That's a matter of opinion.  Who's Aidan?" Stormy asked in the dulcet, Southern belle tones that meant Damien might yet be in for an argument from hell later.

Damien missed the apologetic look from Connor as he turned to Stormy and answered, "Do you remember I mentioned one of my teachers, Edana?  That's Aidan."

"Uh-huh."

She sounded distinctly unconvinced, and Damien sighed in resignation.  "Where did you get the idea that I want another fight with you this evening?"

Connor grinned at both of them, enjoying the sight of his old friend cowed by this tiny mortal, and said, "She's not an old girlfriend if that's what you're worried about, Ms. Storm."

"Make it Stormy," she said absently.

Damien murmured quietly, "Thanks, Connor."

"Amanda will be here later, though."  The older Highlander chuckled, thinking more about Amanda's reaction to this young woman than Aidan's.  _Oh, this will be entertaining._

~ ~ ~

Aidan finished fastening the cross around Rich's throat, over his protests.  "Hey, look, Aidan, it was kind of a shock finding out about Nick and Vachon, but do I really need this?  I mean, they can't kill me permanently," he whispered.

"I'm not worried about them," she said bluntly.  "I don't want Lucius checking out the new vintage, so to speak."  Rich cringed minutely and the Irish immortal gently said, "Once I get him off to one side and let him feed, I can quit worrying.  But I want you and some of the others protected."

"Why me?  The mortals, sure.  But you're not worried about the other guys.  Is it just that I'm the youngest?"

She tilted her head, studying him, then answered gently, "Rich, to a vampire, Dhonnchaidh is permeated with my scent.  They know I'll avenge my lover.  And this is Connor's house; they'll not touch him.  Marcus and Methos have dealt with them before, and I'm not worried for them.  But you, _acushla,_ have neither experience nor my bed to guard you... and being an involuntary meal might stir unpleasant memories for you.  Will you let me ward you?"

The young redhead tensed, face going blank as he fought down memories of rape, and Aidan touched his cheek gently.  "Rich?"

"Yeah, I'm all right.  Thanks," he answered, tapping his cross.  "You said involuntary.  What's the difference?"

Aidan's mouth quirked, and she colored slightly, saying, "With a vampire who wants you to enjoy it?  If you aren't fighting them, it can be... exquisitely pleasurable.  A quickening without the need to fight off the other mind in your own, the energy rush without the external lightning.  Addictive, nearly.  Don't tell them that, though.  LaCroix doesn't need that ammunition."

"Too bad the vampires here are all guys, then," he said in mock annoyance.  "Sorry, I'm just not ready to expand my horizons that much, yet."

"Oh, it frequently goes from dinner to... sport, you're quite right.  I'll have to introduce you to Janette, sometime, though," Aidan chuckled.  "She's exquisite to look at, and I think she'd like you."

"Oh, she has good taste," Rich laughed.  "All right, get out of here, Aidan.  Mac and Methos have got to be on their way up.  Killer dress, by the way, worth every minute of rooting around in your storage room.  Have the guys seen it yet?"

"Methos has," she grinned.  "I'll go show Dhonnchaidh and get them both up here.  But I like your outfit as well.  Have they seen it yet?"

Rich grinned down at his own reverse tux, seeing the red cummerbund flash against black shirt and white jacket.  "Hey how else am I going to get the ladies to notice me?  Have you seen some of my competition?  Mac?  Nick?  Both of them, that is.  Hell, Javier, if Tracy turns around too long."

"I'm sure you'll manage," she chuckled.  "Try to save me one dance, hmmm?"

~ ~ ~

"We're not running late," Methos groused.  "What's your hurry, MacLeod?"

"I still haven't seen this dress Rachel mentioned.  I want to see what Aidan pulled off this time," the younger Highlander answered.  "Besides, a lot of the people coming to this party are friends of mine and I'd like to see them sometime before 9:30, if that's all right with you?" he asked sarcastically.

"Quit fidgeting, MacLeod," Methos said calmly, taking his revenge for being hurried.  "You'd think in four hundred years that you'd have learned to tie one of these."  The older man took his own sweet time perfecting the knot on Duncan's bow tie, carefully keeping the smirk off his lips.  When he'd drawn it out as long as he thought advisable, though, Methos pulled his lover down into a slow, thorough kiss to improve his mood for the party.  "Now you look perfect.  Almost kissable."

"Almost?" the Highlander chuckled.  "I'll keep that in mind."  They climbed the steps to ballroom, and Duncan shook his head.  "Everyone's coming on time for once, this year.  Amazing.  Now, where's...."  He turned, looking for their lover, and finally saw her walking toward them, away from Rich.  "She was right," he told Methos, "the dress is lovely.  But does she have anything under that?"

"You'll see," came the murmured reply.

Aidan leaned in and kissed Duncan gently.  "For once I don't have to stand on tiptoe to do that."

"You're already on tiptoe," the Highlander grinned.  "Four inch heels?  Good thing you can't sprain your ankles."

"Well it wouldn't last," she agreed, then turned slightly to study Methos.  "Gods, Magister, you look splendid.  Dhonnchaidh, why do I see your hand in this?"

Both of them studied the older man, admiring the way the long coat accented both the length of his legs and the breadth of his shoulders.  Methos meanwhile said sweetly, "We'd have been here sooner, but I had to keep batting his hands away."

"Who was it who kept fiddling with my tie?" Duncan asked in amusement.  "Slanderer."

"I was merely admiring your intact throat, Highlander, and marveling.  Not a single challenge in a month.  Losing your touch?"

"Connor would just claim seniority," Duncan answered with a shrug.  "So I turned off the evil immortal beacon.  Come on, oh venerable one, let's see if Gina and Robert are here."

"Venerable?"  Aidan asked in amusement, seeing Methos' annoyance.

"Connor said it was the correct form of address," Duncan answered with an innocent look.  "Wouldn't want you to think I don't respect you anymore, Ad--"  The younger Scot broke off in mid-name as Aidan turned to head back to the party with them.  "Aidan, stop," he said softly.

"What?" she asked innocently, turning half-way toward him.  "Something wrong, Dhonnchaidh?"

"Is that dress legal?"

Methos snickered.  "Everything that has to be covered is covered, Highlander, and a bit more besides.  I'm just waiting to see if it falls off."

"It's spray painted on," Duncan said admiringly.  "Will it fall off, _alanna_?"

"Miracles of engineering, _muirnin_.  Don't worry so."  Behind her she felt an immortal approach and asked them softly, "Who's coming?"

"Damien, and a lovely blonde," Methos said casually.  "Tiny little thing."

"Oh, good," Aidan said.  "I want to meet this one.  I've a bottle of Calvados promised to the Gods if he finally found a lady."

"Instead of the females he usually finds?" Duncan asked in amusement.

"Oh, you've met some of his girlfriends?" she asked, chuckling.

"I've had that pleasure, yes.  At his age, you'd think--"

"Magistra, how are you?"

Aidan turned, well aware that her dress wouldn't startle this student, and said cheerfully, "Damien, it's good to...."  Her voice fell away as she saw the blond with him.  "Oh, Goddess."  Deliberately, she shut down her emotions for the second time that week and forced calm into her voice.  "It's good to see you, old friend.  Who's this?"

"Aidan Logan, I'd like you to meet Sylvana Storm.  Stormy, this is my old teacher, Edana."

Dark brown eyes widened slightly at that, and Stormy studied the slender immortal.  Whatever preconceptions she might have had about Damiano's teacher, she had not expected this tall, striking woman to have taught a burly bruiser like Damien to fight.

_Dammit all to hell, Appesard, I think I may be  jealous.  Taller than I ever hoped to be, and all that hair which will behave, unlike mine, and immortal to boot.  And she's older than Damien if she taught him.  On the other hand, she's got two gorgeous men there, so she's not after Damiano.  Why do I upset her?  She looked like I was a ghost.  You know, I bet at her age, everyone reminds you of someone.  I wonder who I look like?_

"Sorry, Magistra," Damien said in Italian.  "I had to tell her, she saw me die."

Aidan nodded.  "It happens," she answered in the same language.  "Does she know about anyone else?"

"No one in specific, although she knows there'll be other immortals here.  She also knows there's a truce and not to worry until day after tomorrow."

"Good."  Switching to English, Aidan continued, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Stormy, but will you please excuse me?  I need to take care of something for Russell."  The Irish immortal escaped before Duncan could catch her arm, grateful that the Highlander was too polite to leave before introductions had been made.

Stormy, however, saw the concerned look on Duncan's face and said quickly, "What are you waiting for?  Go after her, whoever you are.  Get."

The Highlander glanced quickly between Damien and Methos.  The oldest immortal sized Stormy up, approving of Damien's taste in ladies for the first time in decades.  Then he nodded his thanks to her and wrapped an arm around Duncan's waist.  "Come on, MacLeod, let's find out what's wrong."

Damien watched them leave, startled to see Duncan that intimate with another man and more than a bit concerned about his teacher, who had drilled proper manners into him.  "What was that about?"

"I've got no idea," Stormy said bluntly.  "Damn, Appesard, I've heard the good-looking men are all gay, taken, or dead.  Do they qualify for all three?"

He snorted in amusement, then said, "Matthew?  Who knows.  He's an old friend of Aidan's.  As for MacLeod, I would have said they don't get much straighter.  I have no idea what's going on.  Oh, the one with the ponytail is Duncan MacLeod.  The other man is Matthew Adams, or he was the last time I saw him."

"Which was?" she asked.

"Oh, let's see, that was... 1942, in England .  He was working as a cryptographer and I had to hand-deliver some captured dispatches."

"Ah'm sorry Ah asked," Stormy drawled, aware that several years in the South had yet to immunize him to a sweet, drawn-out accent.  "Damiano, Ah have to ask," she said quietly.  "Why did your friend look like she'd seen a ghost?"

"I have no...."  He froze, looking more closely at Stormy.  "Oh, shit.  Yes, I do.  I attended the lady's funeral seven years ago.  Come on, let's get some wine and I'll tell you about Dani St. Vir."

~ ~ ~

When they caught up to Aidan, she was standing near the door to the foyer, a tall glass in her hands.  Duncan stopped a few steps away, trying to read her body language since she was shutting her emotions out of her signature.  Methos, however, walked up and took the glass from her, looking at the clear, iced liquid.  Unable to smell anything, he shrugged minutely and took a sip over her protests.  He handed her the glass back, one eyebrow raised.  "Straight vodka.  I don't think I'm going to leave this one alone, Edana.  What's wrong?"

She swallowed and shook her head, silent and agitated.

Duncan stood between her and the rest of the Christmas party-goers, blocking both their view and her exit.  "Aidan, talk to us.  What's wrong?"

"I just...."  Her shoulders slumped down from their tensed position and she looked down at Duncan's shoes, forgetting that the upswept style wouldn't let her hair hide her face.  One hand wrapped inside the other and held against her mouth, she took a deep breath, then another, knowing she couldn't hide her upset from these two.  The three of them had shared too much for that.  She stepped forward into Duncan's embrace and Methos wrapped his arms around her from behind.  They stood that way for a moment, a small knot of quiet in the middle of the party.

That stillness drew Connor's eyes where he stood by the door into the foyer.  He couldn't help smiling when he saw the embrace.  About damn time Aidan loved someone again, and Duncan finally seemed to have recovered from Tessa's death.  As he watched, Duncan ran one hand caressingly along Robert's forearm where the two of them were intertwined around Aidan.  Who'd have thought his cousin would get involved with a man?  But seeing Duncan that happy was enough explanation for Connor.

When Aidan obviously wasn't going to come out with more words, Methos dropped an arm down to her waist and tugged.  "Come on, there's got to be a room somewhere around here that doesn't have half a hundred people trying to become intoxicated, and you are going to talk to us."

Duncan moved to her other side and the three of them moved off through the growing crowd.  Aidan briefly considered escape, but realized she'd never make it and she'd have to abandon too much to elude them.  Duncan found Connor and indicated the lower, private portion of the building with his chin, then tilted his head to ask permission.

Connor raised one eyebrow, scanned his sister's face, his kinsman's body language, and nodded.  _I'd say she saw Stormy.  I'm sorry, sister, I couldn't find anyone to warn you._   At least Duncan and Robert would take care of her through this.

Within thirty seconds they were out of the noise.  In another minute they were down in their own bedroom.

Methos sat Aidan in a chair, careful as if she were spun glass, and said calmly, "Duncan, lock the door.  I don't want interruptions, and I don't want her leaving."

"Bit extreme, isn't that, Methos?"

"No, not really."  He watched her out of green-gold eyes.  "It'll hurt less after you tell us.  Talk."

Aidan leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, cupped hands holding her forehead up and wrists obscuring much of her face.  "Going to bully me until I do?"

"If I have to.  Who does Stormy remind you of, Edana?"

"Oh, Goddess, Methos!"  Her wail tore straight out of her gut and she looked up despite herself.  "Don't do this to me!"

"This should have been lanced ages ago, and we're going to take care of it now -- before LaCroix gets here.  What happened?"  He watched as Duncan sat on one arm of her chair and braced her back.  The younger man wasn't going to interfere, he realized.  Good.  Duncan raised one dark eyebrow at him, obviously concerned, but said nothing.

Aidan tucked her head back against her hands, bowed over herself as if in prayer.  All too aware that Methos didn't drop things like this once he had started, she gave in and spoke, a monotone sound that drew the lines of worry even deeper in Duncan's face.

"I met someone at one of Connor's parties."  She sniffed, not wanting to talk, then went on.  "You know how sometimes you see them... and it's like there nothing else you can do?  You have to love them, there simply is never another option."

Methos said quietly, "Yes, I know.  What happened?"

Aidan laughed quietly, no mirth in it.  Her hands rubbed restlessly at her hairline and her temples, unable to hold still.  "We fell in love.  Talked on the phone a lot, spent weekends together any time we could and a few times we shouldn't have.  She lived here, you see, and I was tied to Syracuse."  She rubbed her thumbs against her intertwined fingers, still not looking at either of them.  Duncan never blinked at the female pronoun; he'd known for a while that Aidan liked women and men both.  Methos had already set his face into an impartial mask.

After a few seconds, Methos prompted, "How long?"  His voice was unusually gentle and carefully neutral.

"Sixteen months.  Not long enough.  It's never long enough," she whispered.

Methos flinched at that, and Duncan's dark eyes extended his sympathy across Aidan's piled hair, knowing what memory that had just triggered.

Aidan straightened, warned by Duncan's tension.  "What did I say?  Methos?"

"Later.  What happened, Edana?  Tell me."

"We were both here for the next party.  Dani told me she had a one-man show coming up for an art gallery, that she couldn't come visit for the next few months, she was going to be busy getting ready.  I could understand that, I knew how long tapestries took, I've made the damn things.  Never could understand how she enjoyed doing them."  She paused, trying to organize thoughts.

"While she was getting ready for the show, she ran herself into the ground as she always did, but this time it was a little worse than usual.  We had talked at Christmas about going on vacation when the show was over, we hadn't been out of New York since we'd been together.  Maybe go to Italy, somewhere in Europe.  So Dani went to a doctor, figured they'd just tell her she was run down and that would be that.  Maybe get told to watch her iron, that she was anemic."

Aidan swallowed again, still looking down determinedly.  Methos reached across and wrapped his hands around hers.  "She was in full-blown AIDS, hadn't even known she was HIV-positive."  Eyes squinted shut, trying to block away memories that weren't going to allow it, Aidan held onto Methos' hands tightly.  She pressed back against Duncan's chest as well, taking her strength from both of them.

Taking a breath, then letting it out again, she continued, "Dani didn't tell me.  She didn't tell Connor.  She went on with her show," another deep breath, "and made some decisions.  I came in the day after the show to spend a week up here.  Got blindsided by the fight she picked.  I didn't know what was going on.  All those years of experience and I'd never seen it coming.  No surprise looking back on it.  But it was... bad.  The worst break-up fight I'd ever been in.  It... hurt."

She paused for a moment, then went on.  "I was stupid.  I thought... I thought give it some time, give her some time.  I decided to come back in a year or so, I knew we weren't going to be lovers again, but maybe we could be friends.

"Ten months later I got a call from a lawyer, would I please come to NYC? When Connor and I got there he told us that she was dead.  Her body had already been cremated.  She had set up the will so that Connor or I or both would be executors."

Duncan asked quietly, "But why?  Why fight you off and then make you executor?"

"Because, Dhonnchaidh, she decided I was too young to watch her die.  She wasn't going to do that to me, not let me scar the rest of my life with those memories."  Aidan chuckled again, that same hurting sound.  "I was going to tell her about immortality at Christmas, you see.  I wanted her to know, didn't want her unprepared when someone challenged me.  But she didn't want to talk about anything important just then, her mind was already in that show.  And I agreed.  Oh, I told her we'd have to discuss it before we went on vacation."

Methos tightened his grip on her hands, matching her steadily increasing pressure.  Aidan's voice became more hoarse with every word as she fought back the tears to talk.  "I thought I had time.  She died alone and in pain and without telling--"  Her voice broke then Aidan went on, "Because she was trying to protect me.  Protect me from HIV, protect me from remembering her dying slow.

"And I can't believe she's dead.  I mean, I never saw a body.  Never saw her sick.  It's not real.  I buried her ashes and it's still not real.  I keep thinking she'll jump out and surprise me, even now.  Dani's why I quit coming to Connor's parties.  I kept seeing her here, so I....

"She was just so alive, Duncan.  Dani woke up every morning wanting to get going, find something to do, something to look at and say, 'Oh, wow!'  The woman only went to bed when she was too tired to do anything else."  This time the chuckle hurt but it was laughing.

"Well, sometimes when she wasn't tired....  But I didn't tell her.  She died alone because I didn't tell her.  I thought we had time...."

Duncan wrapped an arm around her and squeezed.  "No, love.  She died alone because it was what she chose.  And she died thinking she had protected you."

That broke Aidan's control at last.  Methos pulled her in against his shoulder as she started crying.  He saw Duncan stand up from the chair arm, then the Scot scooped her up and settled her onto his lap.  Methos pulled his chair closer and let her settle back against him.  Safe between her two lovers, Aidan finally let herself cry out all the pain and misery, all the might-have-been's and should-have's that had torn at her for so long.

When she wound down, red-eyed, red-nosed and hoarse from sobbing, Duncan lifted her into Methos' lap, to the surprise of both of them.  But Methos chuckled and said, "It's a good thing you don't wear much make-up.  You, love, are a mess."

Duncan came back with a wet washcloth and some tissue.  "Here, blow your nose, and then let's get you cleaned up."

The noise she made clearing her sinuses had all three of them chuckling.  Duncan began to clean off her face, watching the redness fade rapidly as immortal healing kicked in.  Methos carefully replaced a jeweled pin, then pronounced her hair intact.  "Which is a miracle itself."

Aidan sat up carefully and uncurled herself from his lap.  "I suppose I should touch up my lipstick and mascara.  Damn, I'd forgotten how difficult it is to sit in these dresses."

Duncan laid his hand on her bared back.  "No, don't move yet."  He looked at Methos and said quietly, "Tell her, Methos.  You need to grieve almost as much as Aidan did."

"MacLeod...."  The warning was clear and Duncan ignored it.

"Methos.  Tell her, _mo chridh_ , or I'll do the bullying this time."  Duncan sat down next to him, one hand wrapped around Aidan's, the other arm around Methos' shoulders.  "Tell her about Alexa."

The oldest immortal sighed and replied, "Duncan, most of the grieving is done.  And largely due to you, I might add."

Aidan smiled at him and said lightly, "So tell me.  Who's Alexa?"

The sympathy in her eyes disarmed him.  "I met her at Joe's.  She wasn't small so much as... frail, almost fragile looking.  But vivid.  Very much alive and rooted in the here and now, in the world.  Here she was waiting tables in a blues bar and dreaming of traveling.  She wanted to see Paris, Venice, Athens."

He smiled at the memories and at the feel of their hands soothing him, Aidan rubbing lightly on his neck, Duncan stroking fingers through his hair.  "She never hesitated to snap at me.  Said I was too young to be so cynical."

Aidan laughed quietly at that.  "I like her already."

"You'd have loved her, too.  You always did get along well with my wives, love."

"Did you marry her?"  Duncan asked it curiously, wondering.

"No, she wouldn't allow it.  Stubborn woman.  Too stubborn, sometimes.  She held onto life as hard as she could, and it wasn't enough. "  He sighed and leaned into Duncan's caress.  "She's buried in Paris so that I can visit her occasionally.  I think she would have preferred Mykonos, but that's so far...."

Duncan said quietly, "She's in good company.  Tessa's there, too."

Aidan laughed despite herself.  "Gods, we are a set, aren't we?  Dani's buried with Heather, Connor's wife.  I thought they'd like each other, and I didn't want her family to be able to find the grave site."

Duncan stared at her.  "You what?"

"Her family disowned her, Dhonnchaidh, for being my lover.  I didn't want them to disturb her remains in any way, so...."  Aidan shrugged, and continued quietly, "She said she didn't mind being disowned, but I think it hurt.  I don't want them to ever be able to hurt her again, even so little as that."

"Good for you.  Disowned her for taking a female lover in general, or you in particular?"

"Oh, in general; they never met me.  How long did you and Alexa have, Magister?"

Methos smiled at her.  "Six months, almost.  But she knew when we met that she was dying.  And I did get to be with her until the end."  He looked up at Duncan, "This is why I never regretted it, Highlander.  Exactly because of what Aidan went through."

Duncan nodded.  "I know.  I knew when you left with her.  Are you two all right, now?"

Aidan studied Methos as he started appraising her, and they both chuckled.

"We're fine, Duncan.  Come on, let's go back to Connor's party.  Edana, didn't you say there were some people coming we needed to meet?"  Methos waited until Duncan gave her a hand up, then stood up himself.

"Oh, gods, yes.  Damn, Nick will know I've been crying, too.  Oh, well."  Aidan shrugged and said, "Shall we?  I want to show off this dress some more.  Duncan, Methos -- thank you."

"You're welcome, _m'chara_ ," Duncan replied.

Methos ran his fingers down her cheek  "Makeup, Edana.  Fool them as best you can, hmm?  You'll worry Connor."

"Not tonight I won't," she answered resolutely.  "Let him enjoy his own party."  Five minutes' quick work repaired the damages, and she turned around to tell Methos, "Quit teasing Duncan, hmm?  Get your hands off the man's throat so we can go back to the party."

"I was just adjusting his tie," Methos said innocently.

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Duncan growled softly, his own hands on his lover's hips where the older man was pressed against him from the waist down.

"Tonight?  Yes.  Shall we?"

When they walked back into the hubbub of the main party, Aidan looked around them, grateful for the extra four inches of height from her heels.  A blur of light hair coming in the door caught her attention and she laughed in delight, her earlier grief dealt with now and shuttered away.  Later she would curl in against one or both of her lovers, but for the moment she gave herself over to joy.  "There they are!  Come on, you two.  Dhonnchaidh, leave LaCroix be, all right?  Believe it or not, he and I are still friends."

Duncan raised an eyebrow at her.  "Love/hate relationship, hmm?  I won't start anything, Aidan."

Nick came in first, blond hair throwing the light back as he scanned the room with a policeman's instinct to know where everything was.  He'd reverted to the styles of an earlier period, wearing what looked like a black velvet evening trench coat and pants, red silk brocaded waist coat, and a white, high-necked shirt with a black satin band in place of a tie.  Red light flashed from the shirt buttons, and Aidan had no doubt the rubies were real.  She knew full well that no one else would be like to believe it.

Tracy came in behind him, and she looked splendid in the gown Aidan had bought for her.  The immortal woman smiled to see that Amanda must have stopped by to work on Tracy's hair and makeup as she'd promised; the younger woman was attracting startled, admiring glances from several quarters as her silver and black gown caught first the light and then the eye.  The deep purple amethysts Vachon had given her as an early Christmas present suited her blond, peaches and cream coloring beautifully, and were too obviously real to be ignored.

Vachon himself had obviously decided to twit the older vampires; he looked like an extra for Interview With the Vampire.  A black waistcoat and pants, white poet's shirt with high neck and ruffled stock and cuffs, and a deep violet crushed velvet vest made him look like an ostentatious noble visiting the Colonies, or a decadent '80s rock musician.  _Although to give him credit, the vest matches Tracy's jewelry_ , Aidan mused.

One light, possessive hand hovered at the small of Tracy's back, partly to mark Vachon's territory and partly for her reassurance.  From the body language, the blond woman knew she could cope at parties but was truly nervous about this.

A few seconds after Tracy and Vachon cleared the door (and Aidan could hear Duncan's soft whistle by her side as he caught sight of Trace), LaCroix stepped in.  She had to admit that his talent for making an entrance had not suffered over the years.  Pale skin, pale hair cropped short, and intense grey eyes stood out in stark relief against the black on black on black of his formal tuxedo.  Even the waistcoat was black trapunto on black velvet, and the silk cravat looked like a shadow settled for a long nap around his neck.

 Aidan moved forward to meet them, kissed Nick on the cheek, hugged Tracy, and allowed Vachon to raise her hand to his mouth for a patently ironic kiss.  When she turned to LaCroix, though, she smiled even more widely and held out both hands to him.  "Lucien."

"My dear."  He caught her hands with his own and pulled her toward him.  Without thought, Aidan tilted her head up to him and LaCroix kissed her slowly and thoroughly, one arm wrapping around her waist onto the bare skin of her back.  The other arm snaked around her shoulders and the hand came to rest at the base of her head, pale fingers threaded carefully into the piled mass of sable hair.

Aidan made a rumbling noise in her throat that could almost be mistaken for a purr as she returned his kiss, her arms wrapped around his waist.  Deliberately she pricked her tongue against his fangs and allowed him to taste blood.  With his arms positioned as they were, she knew there was no evading this until he ended it, so she settled in to enjoy.  Vampiric strength held her against his mouth until he released her and smiled, an ironic twist of his mouth belied by the pleasure in his eyes.

"It has been too long."

Aidan chuckled quietly and switched to idiomatic Latin from the start of the first millennium, knowing full well he remembered his milk tongue.  "What, six months or thereabouts?  Have we scandalized enough people thoroughly enough for you?"

"What is scandal compared to the sweet taste of your mouth?"  He purred it, a dangerous smile on his lips and one arm still deceptively loose around her waist.

"Meat and drink to you, Lucius, in the roil of emotions you hope to produce.  As much your food as anything more sanguine, old friend.  Shall we go and introduce our joint student to some of her prospective teachers?  I have friends she should meet.  Or would you prefer to feed first?"

LaCroix switched back to English.  "Either, my dear."  The slight bow over her hand told Aidan he was at his most dangerous:  well-rested, and intent on mischief.

Behind her Duncan and Methos had both seen the kiss and Methos had promptly wrapped one hand around the Highlander's wrist to restrain him.  He spoke quickly and quietly in Gaelic, knowing Lucien had never bothered to learn such a 'barbarian' tongue.

"Easy, Duncan.  She's been playing politics with them for centuries now.  Edana knows what she's doing."

"You trust him with--"

"Leave be, Duncan.  She sleeps with us now, out of choice.  We can't control who she loves or who she beds."  Methos watched him carefully to see if this was seeping in.

"God, I'm not that much a barbarian. And yes, I know she wants to be with us.  It's just...."

"He's goading us, and it's working.  He scented us on her and wants to see if there are buttons to be pushed.  Take a deep breath, recite a couple of mantras, and let's go meet them all.  Ready?"

Duncan smiled at him and wrapped an arm around his lover's waist for a one-armed hug.  "Ready."

Tracy and Vachon had seen the interplay between LaCroix and Aidan as well.  Vachon gave away nothing other than his usual jaded amusement.  Shock, then surprise had flickered across Tracy's face.  Quickly she pulled on her professional smile, the one that let nothing past it, and leaned in against Vachon. _God, it's nice to be able to do this with him openly.  Six months ago I was still worrying Nick would find out I was dating him.  But who knew Aidan was sleeping with LaCroix?  That was not a 'friendly' kiss.  She's braver than I am!_

Aidan turned to face the others and reached for Tracy's hand.  "Shall I introduce you to some friends of mine?"

"Sure, let's go."  Vachon replied, already scanning the crowd of partygoers for interesting faces and fun conversations.

"Come along and say hello to your host.  I want to introduce Tracy to several people tonight."  Aidan led them across the room to where both MacLeods waited with Joe and Methos.  Connor had been greeting people for the first half-hour or so; now he had settled into a perch which let him watch the door and most of the party simultaneously.

As Aidan approached with her Toronto friends, Connor raised an eyebrow, then nodded once.  "LaCroix.  I thought that was you I invited."

"I had wondered myself.   You look better than you did the last time I saw you, Hibernian."  LaCroix nodded calmly to Duncan and Methos.  "Gentlemen.  You're a long way from Paris."

Aidan looked back and forth, then commented, "Well, perhaps I don't have as many introductions as I had thought.  However, we will do this anyway."  Waving a hand to indicate the appropriate people, she said, "Russell Nash, allow me to introduce a friend of mine from Toronto.  This is Lucien LaCroix."

Turning back to the vampire, Aidan calmly continued, "And Lucien, I would like you to meet my friend Russell Nash."

Nick meanwhile looked at Joe and said, "By the way, Joe, I've been thinking about something.  Didn't we talk a few months ago?  An investigation into an arson and possible homicide?"

Joe nodded judiciously.  "I wondered last night if that wasn't you.  I never forget a good voice, Detective.  Yeah, we did.  Did you ever solve it?"

Nick and Tracy glanced at each other, then Tracy said, "Some cases you just never get a lead on and we're as short-handed as most of the departments here in the States.  I've got a bad feeling this one may never get solved."  She caught Aidan's eye as she said it and Aidan winked at her.

"Yeah, hard times everywhere," Joe commiserated, concealing his grin.

LaCroix turned his attention from Connor MacLeod, whom he'd met when the swordsman was fighting in Europe during World War II, to Duncan MacLeod.  Grey eyes narrowed for a moment, displeased to see so much of his son's attention elsewhere as the younger vampire enthusiastically greeted the other Scot, Aidan's lover.  This immediate, easy camaraderie between the overly-noble swordsman and his too-human son disturbed LaCroix with its implications that Nick could possibly be encouraged in his dangerous resolve to be mortal again.  Granted, a pre-immortal partner had been an excellent influence on Nicholas' properly predatory instincts, but still.  Later, Lucien resolved.  He would derail this friendship later -- but not much later.

~ ~ ~

Gina de Valicourt returned from the bar, two glasses of champagne in hand, and her husband, Robert, took one from her with a swift kiss to her cheek.  "Thank you, _cara_.  Do you care to dance or mingle?"

"You promised me the first waltz," Gina reminded him.  "Until they play one, however, let's mingle.  I want to meet this young officer of Aidan's.  She seemed to think we'd be training her."

"I think she just doesn't want another student yet," Robert opined, resting one hand on the small of his wife's back as they worked their way around the room.  "Ah, there's Richard.  Still popular with the ladies, I see."

"Doesn't he look striking?  I like the white and black."

"Shall I remember that for our next formal occasion?"  Robert asked her.

The Italian immortal considered her husband's starkly traditional black and white tuxedo.  "It would certainly suit you, Robert, but you look classically handsome as you are."

"He certainly does," a cheerful female voice agreed.  "Hello, Gina, Robert."

"Kyra!"  Gina hugged her and kissed each cheek, then stepped back a few feet.  "Blue beads?  Really?"

The tall, blond immortal looked at her own outfit, then at Gina's brilliant red satin.  "I like it.  How have you two been?  What is this, 300 years, or 301?"

"301 years in June.  We're both well, Kyra.  I was sorry to hear about your lover."

"So was his killer," the blonde said softly, before she firmly changed the topic.  "So who's here tonight, Robert?"

"Both MacLeods, a friend of Duncan's named Adam Pierson, Duncan's latest student, Rich Ryan, and one of Connor's former students, Fahizah Sarasvati.  Lovely woman," he added approvingly, then caught the slight frown on Gina's face and quickly went on.  "Let's see, Sidra is here, under the name Aidan Logan, and Damien Appesard with his lady."

"I haven't seen Damien in ages," Kyra chuckled.  "Does he still have that temper?"

"Oh, yes," Gina laughed.  "Marcus Constantine is around somewhere, and I believe Amanda is coming.  There's at least one pre-immortal here, a young woman named Tracy, I believe.  Robert and I were going to go meet her.  Care to come along?"

"Oh, certainly," Kyra chuckled.  "I haven't seen enough of Duncan lately."

The two women exchanged wicked smiles which made Robert uneasy.  He vaguely remembered hearing something about the younger MacLeod running into Kyra in the 1640s, but neither the Scot nor the lovely blond would ever say what had happened.  Richelieu's name had come up, with a few disparaging remarks about his men's skill at arms, but both Kyra and Duncan tended to grin, mutter something about claymores, and change the subject.  It looked as though Gina knew more than Robert, and he preferred to keep it that way.

"Shall we, then?"  Robert offered an arm to each, and turned his attention to changing the topic as they looked for their friends.

~ ~ ~

Claudia Jardine stared indignantly at the interloper at her piano.  All right, so it was actually Connor's piano; still, she had been playing for almost an hour before she stood up to stretch her hands and legs and get some fresh air and wine.  And while she was gone, some ( _Attractive_ , she reluctantly conceded) man had taken over the piano bench and was performing Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ , with a certain technical competency and, oh, all right, great depth of emotion.

The young immortal woman sank down on the edge of  the piano bench and allowed herself the luxury of letting someone else play, just this once.  As the piece drew to its conclusion, the player said quietly, "I'm sorry, were you ready to play again or shall I go on?"

"You're not half bad, Mr. ...?"

"Knight, Nick Knight.  I've heard a couple of your performances, Ms. Jardine.  You're superb.  What are you doing playing piano here?"

"Russell's cousin, Duncan, put me through Juilliard.  Russell invites me to the party every year, and since I'd rather play than make small talk, he puts a piano up here and lets me play."

Nick heard the wistful exhaustion that underlaid her tones and started on a Strauss waltz without thinking about it.  "Long year?"

"You could say that.  Maybe even make that two years," she muttered, brushing a lock of hair out of her face without really thinking about it.

Through the crowd noise, Nick clearly heard Tracy mutter, "Nick, Javier, somebody, get me away from this jerk!"  The vampire glanced around, frowning when he couldn't immediately see his partner.

Claudia asked, "Something wrong?"

"A sneaking suspicion that my friend hasn't made it back because she's been trapped by a conversational guerrilla," Nick answered, listening to Tracy make half-hearted replies to a monologue being conducted by a familiar voice.

"I think you've described several people at this party," Claudia sighed.  "If one more person had asked if I could help them get tickets to something, I would have screamed."

"Well, you would have definitely gotten attention, if not quite what you might have hoped for."

That brought a sudden smile to her face, lightening the young black woman's expression and changing her from attractive to lovely.  "I imagine it would, but I couldn't see frightening Duncan or Russell just because I couldn't cope, you know?"  The concert pianist looked around the party critically, then saw Walter Graham talking to a young woman who showed every sign of wanting to be somewhere else.  "By any chance, would your friend be blond and wearing black and silver?"

"That's Tracy," Nick agreed affably.  "Could you slide in and take this over from me?  I think I'd better go rescue her."

"No need, Duncan just headed that way.  He can rescue anyone from Walter."

"Walter?  Walter Graham?" Nick asked in dismay, finally placing the voice.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"I knew him, yes.  We were involved in the same theater company for a while.  Still doesn't understand the difference between dialogue and monologue, does he?" the vampire muttered, remembering days in the Globe Theater with Shakespeare.

Claudia was still giggling when Duncan and a very relieved blond woman arrived.  "Claudia, how are you?" the Highlander asked, stooping to hug her where she sat on the bench.

"I'm fine, Duncan, really.  You worry too much."

"Better than not enough," he answered grimly.  "Everything's going well, though?"

"Oh, sure.  Any trouble I can't handle, Walter bores to death.  Speaking of boring, Duncan, can we change the subject?  Who's this?"

"Claudia Jardine, this is Tracy Vetter.  Trace, this is Claudia."  Duncan rolled his eyes as his protégé exhibited her usual tact for anything that wasn't music.

"Next time, Knight," and Tracy put his wine glass down, "get your own wine.  Duncan, would your cousin mind if I arrested someone for being a public nuisance?"

"If it's Walter, you might get a medal," Duncan said amiably.  "Of course, I don't think your jurisdiction extends this far.  But it's a nice dream, Tracy."

"This is Walter we're talking about," Nick pointed out. "I'm sure someone on the NYPD would be willing to stretch a point and help out."

"Ah, Chevalier, how are you?"

Duncan sighed and buried his face in his hand for a moment as he gathered strength not to kill Walter.  Nick, fortunately, never lost a beat of the music.  "Fine, Walter, and you?  And it's Knight."

"Of course.  Fine, Nicholas, just fine.  I saw your cousin earlier, and thought you might be here.  Has he ever thought of acting?  He would terrify an audience as a villain, and that voice!" Walter enthused.

"LaCroix has been on a stage once or twice," Nick replied, fighting down a grin.  "And you're quite right, he makes a very effective villain.  He once played a devil in Faust that terrified the audience."

Claudia kept Duncan between herself and Walter as she continued to head for the door.  Walter's company could be maddening as he tried to 'direct' her already flourishing career and all of a sudden she just wasn't in a mood for his company.  To her surprise, a good-looking man, dark-haired and wearing a tuxedo that must have been dreamed up by  a Caribbean pirate, winked at her and said quietly, "Run for it, I'll cover you."  Duncan's student ( _What's his name?  Oh, yes, Rich_ ), winked and nodded from the pirate's shoulder and Claudia fled gratefully out the door, looking for Connor, who intimidated everyone and understood the need for silence.

It took the arrival of Gina and Kyra, both smiling like fiends ready to play in Faust to cow Walter at last.  Robert watched with an unconcealed grin as his lady terrorized the larger immortal.  "Walter, what are you thinking?  Where is your courtesy?  We have three ladies here, none of us with anything to drink," here Kyra passed Gina's empty glass behind her back to Robert, "and a young woman that I have come from Paris to meet and what do you do?  You monopolize her in hopes of touching off one of your Svengali schemes.  Really, Walter, shame."

Kyra chimed in pleasantly, "Walter, are you still trying to stage-manage accomplished performers?  I thought you got over that notion when you tangled with Shakespeare.  That was you who tangled with him, wasn't it?"

Nick cleared his throat and said mildly, "Does having his manuscripts returned unopened count?"

Tracy turned and stared at her partner, then said softly, "You were there?"

"He was a spear carrier, Ms. Vetter, while I, I was--"

"Unemployed," Duncan cut in with a precision of timing much admired by both police officers.

Walter turned and stared at the younger Scot.  "I will have you know, MacLeod, that I was associated with Will while you were still herding sheep."

"Oh, you mean I had honest employment?  Right, like I said.  Tracy, meet Gina and Robert de Valicourt, good friends of mine and Aidan's."

Tracy turned and smiled at them, relieved and pleased by the rescue.  _So these are the 'happily marrieds' as Aidan calls them?  Three hundred years?  I'm impressed.  And she thinks they might be willing to train me?_ "I'm very pleased to meet you both."

"And we, you," Robert replied gallantly, bending over her hand and kissing it.  "Aidan has been most complimentary."

"In both directions," Tracy answered.  "Could we possibly talk on the balcony for a while?  I could use some fresh air, I'm afraid."

Kyra smiled at Walter and said pleasantly, "Walter, please, three thirsty ladies...."

He donned his best wounded expression and sighed dramatically, "Oh, all right, I won't stay where I'm not wanted."  Behind him, Duncan bit down on a comment.  "I shall return in a few minutes with your drinks, ladies."  He glared at the three of them and asked in a more biting tone, "Is fifteen minutes long enough, or do I have to stay away half the night?"

Nick chuckled and said, "Oh, I'm sure fifteen minutes should be plenty, Walter.  Duncan, did you want anything while he's going?  Robert?"

Walter left as soon as they both shook their heads, and Duncan grinned at Nick.  "Nicely done.  Does he drive you mad, too?"

"A forensics team could do positive ID on him from the walls," Nick replied dryly.

"Do what?" Kyra asked, as Gina and Robert pulled up chairs for themselves and Tracy.

"Chewing the scenery?" Duncan and Nick asked in chorus, then grinned at each other again.

"Overacting, Kyra, as usual," Gina replied.  "So, was that the hot air you wished to escape, Tracy?"

"Oh, yeah," she sighed, sinking into her chair.  "My feet hurts, my head hurts, and if one more person gives me that surreptitious, sidelong, 'I know something you don't know' look, I may just have to see if I can still hit first soprano when I scream."  She toed her high heels off and checked to see if the toes were permanently deformed from the fashionable footwear.  "Amanda insisted I had to wear these.  I get to wear high-tops at work.  The better to catch the criminals, my dear," Tracy laughed.

Kyra grinned and pulled up a chair.  "I used to fight barefoot, myself.  I'm Kyra.  Aidan's interested in you?"

"Yeah," Nick laughed.  "She's the one who found Trace and is trying to set up teachers for her.  Why?"

"Nice to meet you, sister.  Aidan taught me."

Duncan blinked, then set his drink down.  "Aidan what?"

"Aidan trained me," Kyra replied blithely.  "I was her first student.  We met when I outran her in the Heralaneum."

"The what?" Robert asked.

"The women's games.  They weren't allowed to compete in the Olympics, remember," Methos answered as he handed Duncan a drink.  "Interesting discussion, how'd this come up?"

"It's where I met Aidan," Kyra laughed.  "I won."

"Sparta usually did," Methos said dryly.

Duncan shook his head and asked Methos, "So how many students has Aidan trained?"

"Overall or still living?" Kyra interrupted.

"Either."

"Hmm.  Still living?  Let's see, me, Mandisa, Navarro, Damien ought to count, Terrence...."

"Terrence Coventry?"

"Yes, MacLeod," Methos said sardonically, "that Terrence.  Let's see, Rabi lost not three months ago."

"I didn't know that," Kyra frowned.  "Damn.  Duncan, I don't know, you'd have needed to ask Darius.  I don't know that she's still in touch with all of us.  We're a spread-out bunch and she wanders more than we do.  I mean, Holly's dead, and Aelfgyfu -- Damien's first teacher," she added.  "And so are Hana and David.  I really don't know, Duncan.  I think maybe another fifteen or so?"

Kyra caught Tracy's hand, seeing the shell-shocked look on the young woman's face.  "She's a good teacher, Tracy, don't let this scare you off.  But over the centuries, you lose sisters and brothers.  It's just the way things are.  I mean, she's been doing this for more than two thousand years; the law of averages catches us off-balance some times, that's all.

"Besides, there are good points to being immortal.  Go to strange places, meet strange people," and she grinned at the others in the circle, "and learn about unusual weapons...."

Duncan met her eye and grinned, well aware that wasn't what she'd said the time they ended up in bed comparing French and Scottish 'swords'.

Methos looked at the feline smiles from Kyra and Gina, at Duncan's salacious amusement, and murmured in Gaelic, "Highlander, sometime I've got to hear this."

"And Tracy?"  Gina spoke softly to gain the pre-immortal's attention.  "Robert and I will be perfectly happy to train you if Aidan cannot.  Do not fret over that, hmm?  It has been too long since we've had a student.  It would be a pleasure."

"And even if we don't," Robert chimed in, "perhaps you should come to France when you have some vacation time, see the sights, and we'll show you a few little tricks and traps then.  You are traveling armed, aren't you?"

"I'm a cop," Tracy laughed.  "I'm armed.  I even have a sword in the trunk of my partner's Caddy.  Thank you, both.  I appreciate the offer."

"What kind of sword?" Kyra asked, leaning forward slightly.  "And who's training you?"

"Gladius, and Lucien LaCroix.  He was a Roman general, and Aidan asked him to start me out."

"Good choice on the sword.  I started out on short sword and shield; it's a good weapon to learn on."  Kyra grinned at her and said, "How long are you in town for?  If you like, we can get together and I'll try to show you a few tricks I've picked up here and there."

"We're here until Monday evening," Tracy said.  "Maybe tomorrow or Monday during the day?"

"Sounds great.  All right, here comes Walter.  Battle stations, ladies.  And Tracy?  I'll call tomorrow and we'll set this up, but if Walter hears about this, he'll want to try to help."  Kyra assumed her best innocent expression and examined her nails for chips in the polish.

Tracy shuddered at the thought, then said innocently, "Hears about what?"  By the time Walter came within hearing distance, Gina and Robert were haggling with Tracy over who was paying her plane fare to come visit that fall.

~ ~ ~

Damien wrapped his arm possessively around Stormy, who sighed and leaned into his warmth.  "Doing all right?"

"Helluva lotta people, Appesard, and most of 'em wondering who you brought this year.  They don't seem to have much faith in your taste in women," she added dryly.

"Unfortunately, that's because he's usually clueless," a sweet voice said.  "With certain notable exceptions."

"Amanda, it's called tact.  Could you try, once in a while, to use it?"  Nick Wolfe sounded and looked exasperated.  "Pardon her, please.  She can't seem to get over the fact that I quit the police force.  I guess," he added sarcastically, "that she thinks one of us should play bad cop."

"Well, I don't eat donuts," Amanda shrugged.  "It's not a hardship.  Besides, Nick, Damien and I are old friends."

 _Didn't Mr. Nash mention someone named Amanda?_ Stormy wondered.  Out loud, she said, "Nice to meet you then.  Sylvana Storm.  And you would be?"

"Amanda Darrieux, this is Stormy," Damien said firmly.  "For once in your life, 'Manda, will you please behave?"

"I always behave," she replied indignantly.  "Nick Wolfe, I'd like you to meet Damien Appesard."

The two men exchanged glances of perfect, long-suffering understanding.  A grin edged Wolfe's mouth; Damien's eyebrow rose minutely as he fought down his own grin.  The Amanda Mutual Defense League gained another member, and both men chuckled.

Stormy sighed.  "Men."  She and Amanda had checked each other out, debated a cat fight, and decided against it all in one moment.

"I love your dress," Amanda said sincerely, having decided to annoy Damien by being polite.

"Yours is impressive," Stormy replied, looking at iridescent white silk with strategic beading.  "That's lovely."

"Yes, it is," said a quiet voice.  "I like it, Amanda.  Enjoying the party, Damien, Stormy?"

"It's really somethin'," Stormy drawled.  "You doin' better?  Looked like you had a touch of somethin' for a second there."  _Interesting.  The more I drawl, the more she relaxes.  Well, Damien said that Dani St. Vir was a Yankee.  I think I can play this up to make a friend of his feel better.  Win more flies with honey than vinegar._

"I'm fine, thank you," came the answer.  "Nice of you to worry, though."

"So where're those two gorgeous men who were with you?" Stormy continued casually.  "They were lookin' for you."

Amanda chuckled and said, "Have you checked under the mistletoe lately?"

"Wolfe, if she goes near mistletoe, you're on your own," Damien said, tightening his grip around Stormy.

"Ah'd like to breathe, Damiano.  Give a girl a break, hmm?

Aidan laughed quietly.  "Damien, do I need to get Duncan over here to defend your virtue?"

"Ah'll handle that just fine," Stormy replied cheerfully.  "Not a problem at all, although it's kind of you to offer."

"Duncan and Adam are talking to a new friend of ours.   Did you want to come meet them, you two?  Kyra's here, too."

Wolfe watched the maneuvering and grinned to himself.  Aidan clearly wanted the burly redhead to go, and equally clearly didn't want to set Stormy off.  Of course, now Amanda was intrigued, but what the hell.  "Come on, Amanda, we'll catch up with them later.  Didn't you want me to meet someone named Marcus?"

"Now, darling?"  Her voice was incredulous.

"Why not?" Wolfe asked blandly, and winked at Aidan.  "Come on, Amanda, we'll find them in a few minutes, but he's the last name you wanted me to meet and then I can settle down with some scotch and bullshit with Joe and his friend over there.  Let's get this over with, all right?"

"Oh, all right!" Amanda huffed, following him as he headed off.  "You can be so stubborn, Nick Wolfe!"

Damien watched them go and grinned.  "About damn time someone didn't take Amanda's guff.  I like this man.  I'm putting him on my Christmas list."

"So am Ah," Stormy drawled.  "Ah am impressed."

"And grateful," Aidan smiled.  "Come on, Damien, I want you to meet a friend of mine.  Stormy, would you care to come along?  I think we're going to sit down and put our feet up for a while over there."

"Lead the way, Aidan, Ah'm all in favor of that."

* * * *

In the grey minutes of pre-dawn, several tired faces were visible over the tops of chairs and couches.  Without exception, the men had loosened collars, removed ties, thrown jackets over flat and not-so-flat surfaces.  The women had their shoes off and in several cases their hair down.  Silence lay over the room like ground mist over the cold streets outside.

Connor MacLeod finally stirred.  "All in favor of cleaning everything up after sleep, say 'Aye.' "

Duncan never lifted his head from Methos' chest.  The Scot had sprawled back against his lover and was enjoying the languid hand which occasionally moved through dark, loosened hair.  "Aye."

Methos chuckled.  "You have to ask?"

Nick Wolfe sighed.  "How'd I end up on clean-up detail?"

"Bad luck," Damien sighed.  "Someone has to help.  Aye."

Joe shook his head.  "Got an extra bed, MacLeod?  That's the only way I'm helping tomorrow."

"We can arrange something," Connor sighed.  "Make Rich scoot over if nothing else."

"If it means I don't have to push a broom tonight, no problem," the young redhead groaned.

"Not worried, Ryan?" Methos prodded.

A skeptical blue eye showed as the young immortal raised one eyelid.  "One, it's Joe.  Two, we are both way too tired, even if we did lean that way.  Does your mind just live in the gutter?"

"No, Rich, it would have to swim up to see that," Aidan said tiredly from where she was curled against Connor.  "Aye, brother.  Let's do it tomorrow.  Stormy's asleep, poor thing, and Amanda's going to be asleep if you ask her to help now.  Leave be.  It can all wait."

"You're lilting," Kyra chuckled, sounding none too chipper herself.  "We are tired.  You know, we used to run marathons and still fight...."

Marcus Constantine sighed.  "Some of us still can."

"I don't hear you volunteering," Methos pointed out idly.

"Some of us aren't stupid, either," Marcus said blandly, then pushed up off his chair.  "Kyra, may I offer you a ride to your hotel?"

Slowly, people started rousing and arranging themselves, calling promises to be back around one or so.  Damien was holding Stormy up, with one arm around her waist.  She was almost but not quite awake, holding onto Damien with both arms and making sleepy, murmuring noises.

Wolfe got Amanda up, seeing that she was actually as alert as he was, and he was used to all night stake-outs.  _Duncan may be an old boyfriend, but I don't think I'm worried_ , the former-cop thought to himself.  _I think Adam and Aidan keep him busy._   Even as he thought that, Adam leaned over the other man, trying to wake him up to go to bed.

Aidan moved over, tugging at Duncan's arm.  "Come on, Dhonnchaidh, up."

He rolled over, freeing his arm and wrapping it around Methos' waist.  Connor looked at that and sighed.  "Let me, sister."  Leaning in, he whispered in his kinsman's ear, and Duncan sat up so quickly he nearly cracked his head on Connor's chin.

"What?  Where?"  The younger Scot hastily looked around, then glared at Connor.  "That was unkind."

"Making Aidan and Adam lug you downstairs would have been unkind; I was merely inaccurate.  Go to bed, cousin."

People cleared out slowly, making plans to meet in the afternoon, in the evening, to write more often.  Connor listened as they talked, locked the doors behind everyone, and stretched.  From several years' practice, he managed to avoid looking at the remaining disorder from the party as he collected one last drink and held it up for a moment.

"Nice idea, Kastagir."

Draining the drink, Connor sighed and considered the mess briefly, and the fact that three or four visitors had made it very clear they needed to talk to him soon.  Then he laughed and put the glass down, not worried about where.  All of that was tomorrow's problem.  Tonight -- _This morning_ , he corrected himself -- he was going to bed.  


  


_~ ~ ~ finis 12/24/98 ~ ~ ~_   


  


  


_Notes, Comments, and Commentary:_   


1 - The joke about ladders goes back to ['Quarrels of All Kinds'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/68342/chapters/90176), and Aidan broke an arm that time.  The references throughout this story to Dani or Danielle St. Vir are explained in ['Hold On'](http://rhi.moonlit-eyrie.com/stories/holdon.html).

2 - Methos' identity as Robert Morgan, a Boston tavern-keeper in the late 1700's is all my fault, honest.  Connor's notorious duel on Boston Common, on the other hand, keeps getting blamed on some tavern-keeper named Robert.... (See [Challenges](http://rhi.moonlit-eyrie.com/stories/challenges.html).)

3 - Rachel Ellenstein was Connor's ward, rescued from the Nazis in World War II, and is now his assistant in the antiques store.  No, this is not Rachel MacLeod from the episodes "Homeland" and "Deliverance."  Sorry for any confusion; I didn't name them.

4 - Calvados is an apple brandy.  I don't much like it, but Aidan does.

5 - Yes, you can use acupressure and herbal teas as described if you know what you're doing.  And the Chinese traditionally check six pulses; the high and low pulse on each of three meridian lines.  But quite honestly, in the States at least, it's easier to get to a doctor and get antibiotics, if you can take them.

6 - Hell, yes, I'd love to see Methos and Connor spar.  They both play dirty....

7 - The story about Connor's belt? See [Split Hide](http://rhi.moonlit-eyrie.com/).

8 -  Re:  Aidan's discussion on Christmas.  Yes, the date was taken from the cult of Mithra, for the reason described.  (Shepherds don't watch over their lambing sheep until March or April.)  The opinions on stability in religion and skipping holiday worship are both hers and mine.  Paul converted from Judaism to Christianity after repeatedly denouncing Christ and changed his name to do so (he had been Saul of Tarsis).  Despite the above opinions and comments, like Aidan, I do have several Christian friends.

9 - Okay, so I don't deal well with flashbacks.  Be grateful you got this much of Aidan's history.  One of these years, maybe.

10 - Aidan lost her temper over the Watchers in 'Explanations'.

11 - Sorry, folks, but the writing style in most anthropology texts makes me want to edit them, and I hate editing!

12 - Yes, according to the Watcher CD, Horton was the Watcher on the Kurgan for the last five years of his life.  It lets me understand why he could come up with the Hunters, I suppose, but not forgive it.

13 - Joe's problems with the Watcher Tribunal are in "One Minute To Midnight" and "Judgment Day."

14 - Methos is claiming he became an immortal in "Comes A Horseman."

15 - Yes, Christmas trees were originally intended as ceremonial magic.  The images on the tree (dough horses, cattle, fruit) were your wishes for the year, or symbolic offerings to the Gods.  Try it sometime; it adds something to decorating the tree, if you know what you're dreaming of and for.

15 - Do I really need to tell anyone about _Blade of the MacLeods_ , from "Dramatic License?"

16 - Aidan brought Connor the alcohol in [Hold On](http://rhi.moonlit-eyrie.com/stories/holdon.html); the fight with the two female immortals is from Shadow Plays.

17 - In my fic/Aidan's universe, Erin Shea is the Watcher Researcher who handles the oddball files:  vanished immortals, use of apparently mystical powers, you name it.  She and Joe are currently carrying on a long-distance relationship.

18 - _The Mabinogion_ is a book of Welsh myths, and the story of Rhiannon can be found there.  In some stories she's a goddess, in others she's a faerie from under the hill, and in still others, she's a mortal woman of great power and skill.

19 - Yes, the worship of Isis prospered for many years in the Roman Empire, even after Cleopatra lost her fight to hold Egypt.

20 - Freddie Kreuger is from _Nightmare on Elm Street_ ; Norman Bates, of course, ran the Bates motel in _Psycho_.  If anyone writes those résumés, I would  love to see them!!

21 - Aidan and Rich made the bets in First Harvests; her bet with Duncan was in The Gathering Darkness.

22 - Nick Wolfe is Amanda's reluctant partner/cohort in Highlander: the Raven.  As a former Toronto detective, I have no problem believing he knows both Tracy and Nick Knight by reputation.

23 - The Tuxedo Wars are not my fault!  My alpha reader kept bringing over _International Male_ catalogues, and it just kind of got out of hand?  Oops?

24 - Since vampires are also immortal, they call the other immortals 'swordsmen'.  Aidan usually calls vampires 'nightrunners', too.

25 - Aidan's dress is stolen straight out of the movie _The Shadow._

26 - A Seal of Solomon is a two-color, six-pointed star.

27 - Yup, Stormy and Damien got back together.  Details might be available, if anyone really wants them, but I haven't written it yet.

28 - Rich admitted to being raped in First Harvests, to Aidan's surprise and mine.

29 - Trapunto is a raised pattern on fabric, sometimes done with cording.

30 - If you haven't seen Mac & Kyra's discussion on 'swords' in "Patient No. 7" or on the Romance tape sold with Season 5's boxed set, you're in for a wonderful time.  It's truly hysterical.  As Connor would say, it wasn't the steel weapons they were discussing.

31 - Nick Knight (and the actor Gereint Wyn-Davies) does in fact play piano quite well.

32 - Walter constantly name drops and claims he knew Shakespeare; according to the Forever Knight novel _These Our Revels_ (which I highly recommend), Nick Knight was a spear-carrier in various productions for Shakespeare.  Per the same novel, LaCroix got Nick to quit such a debasing, low-class career, by showing up as one of the devils on a stage performance of _Faust_ and terrorizing audience and actors alike.

32 - Kyra is a Spartan according to the Watcher CD.  And I think that's the correct name for the women's Games, but if I'm wrong someone correct me and I'll fix the reference.

33 - Amanda and Damien were an item for a while.  Enough said?

34 - _M'chara_ \-- Gaelic for my soul; _mo chidh_ ( _e_ ) -- Gaelic for my heart. (Thanks to Ann Blessing for letting me know.) _Muirnin_   -- Irish Gaelic for beloved.  _Luaidh_ ( _e_ ) --   Scottish Gaelic for beloved.  _Cara_ \-- Italian for dear. _Magister/Magistra_ \-- Latin for teacher (m/f).  Hope I didn't miss anything....


End file.
